


dripping like spider milk

by raspberryoats



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Harry Styles, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Face-Fucking, Knotting, M/M, Omega Louis Tomlinson, Porn Star Louis, Semi-Public Sex, Top Harry Styles, blood mention, director harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 64,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27569731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryoats/pseuds/raspberryoats
Summary: When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.They never hired alphas, except for—“Harry.”or prompt 110: Louis is a retired porn star and he gets invited back to test a new line of sex products the company he worked for is releasing (would include photoshoots and videos of Louis sampling certain toys). Harry is there to photograph, film, and intimately help him along the way (preferably in a private setting).
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Harry Styles/Original Character(s), Louis Tomlinson/Original Character(s)
Comments: 120
Kudos: 726
Collections: Bottom Louis Fic Fest 2020





	dripping like spider milk

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii !!
> 
> firstly, i want to quickly apologize to the person who requested this prompt in the chance that you don't like abo :'( i actually did it for a couple reasons, but still, i'm sorry !
> 
> thank you to writing_practice for helping me along and looking over what you could for me !! a bajillion thank you's to my amazing beta [kat](http://twitter.com/haddystan) who supported and encouraged me, britpicked, found all of my inconsistencies, kept me on track, and so much more ! this fic would not exist without you and your help means the world to me ! i have no idea what i'd do without you, i love you & thank you so so so much !! ♡
> 
> thank you to the wonderful mods that were so helpful, encouraging, and put together this amazing fest ! this is my first fest and it's been so easy & seamless with the mods looking over everything. your effort, work, & help doesn't go unnoticed or unappreciated, so a million thank you's !
> 
> also little note: this fic is in no way a commentary on the porn industry or how it works! this fic is all just made up, so please keep that in mind! & there's a tinyyy mention of blood that doesn't go into detail, but please feel free to dm me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/raspberryoatss)/ [tumblr](http://raspberryoatss.tumblr.com) & i can point it out so you can skip over it ! :')
> 
> title taken from the amazing paolo nutini's "scream (funk my life up)"
> 
> please enjoy !! :') ♡

**niall - pls lou pls**

**niall - but u love sex toys :(**

**niall - i bet ur arse is already slick**

**niall - well i already posted on instagram that ur doing it so bring that slick arse over here whenever ur free x**

Louis groans, tossing his phone to the side and rubs his eyes so hard that when he opens them again, it takes a few seconds for his vision to refocus. Niall isn’t wrong, his slick is fucking up the sheets he just washed and wrestled with for an hour because the new Heat Heaven Mattress 3000 is the size of the bloody country. He didn’t put that in his review, instead writing _its large size helps in more ways than one because after a good fucking, you can roll to the other side of the country and sleep comfortably—slick, sweat and cum free_.

Louis isn’t slick from Niall’s text, because he isn’t that far gone to get wet just from the mention of toys. He peers down at the opened package at the foot of his bed, filled to the brim with sex toys he hasn’t even _attempted_ yet. His arse is still sore from the _other_ sex toys he tried out three fucking days ago and Louis would rather be celibate than try stuffing anything else up his arse now.

Maybe he should line up more auditions instead.

Louis’ phone starts ringing because of course it does. He blindly slaps his hand around his bed for it, not even bothering to look at the name when he answers. He grunts as a greeting because he knows the person on the other line doesn’t deserve much more than that.

“Soooo,” Niall’s voice casually drawls, “did you look at my Instagram post?”

Louis shifts around, lying on his side. For a second, his heart drops as he expects to fall face down on the floor, but—right. Heat Heaven Mattress 3000.

“No, not yet,” Louis mutters into the sheets. “Why me, though? Why not another omega?”

Niall cackles, ringing so loud in his ear that Louis has to pull his phone away. “Noah left a month ago, Thomas plans on leaving in a month, and Adam is probably getting fired. Poor bloke gets so nervous being on camera,” Niall replies, not sounding the least bit sympathetic.

Louis doesn’t actually know what exactly Niall does for Full Control and it seems like nobody at the company does, either. Everyone guessed that Niall must’ve been someone of importance as he had enough power to fire someone, but he spent so much of his time messing around that he could’ve easily been passed as one of the betas who cleaned the filthy sheets. Everyone just seemed to accept that Niall did as he pleased, some sort of loud and brash beta that, at the very least, knew everything that was going on at the company.

“But Niall, I’m retired.” God, he sounds like an eighty year old man. ”I—um, don’t do that anymore.” He says _that_ as if saying porn is going to detonate a fucking bomb.

“I know you’re a full-time… what is your job even called? Blogger? Product reviewer? Omega specialist?” Niall ponders, thinking out loud mainly to himself.

“It’s been working out for me,” Louis pouts, even though Niall didn’t exactly insult him. “If companies want to write me a huge check just for fucking myself, then—then I’ll try all their mattresses, dildos, and fucking vibrators all they want.” He shifts around and winces at the reminder of the vibrator from three days ago. “But that’s just it, Niall. I’m just fucking myself. Not some bloody knothead.”

“I’m not asking an alpha to fuck you,” Niall says. There’s some rustling in the background followed by the distant noises of Niall yelling _fucking hell not the strap on!,_ some growling and then some more yelling before he returns to the phone. “Christ, Lucy has been all over these toys since I got them. Anyway, an alpha doesn’t have to fuck you. You can do that bit yourself. We just want you to test and sample them, show how they work.”

“We’re omegas, Niall, we’re not idiots. I think we can figure out how to stuff a dildo up our holes,” Louis laughs.

Niall groans. “ _Please_ , Lou. Just because you’re a retired porn star, doesn’t mean your career is dead. Besides, I’m not asking you to do porn. It’s really just being the face of our new sex products which isn’t too far from what you do now, anyway. Do you know how many comments we get, begging for you to come back?”

Louis does, because he stalks their Instagram comments every now and then when he needs an ego boost or when he fucks himself with every single sex toy and still feels unsatisfied and miserable. He reads every comment about him to remind him that once upon a time, it was good to get fucked for a job. 

“Yeah, well,” he huffs. “How good can those toys even be?”

“Oh Lou, tighten your sweet hole back up and meet me at the office tomorrow at noon.”

“ _Tighten_ my hole? I’m not some kind of slut that—”

“See you and that arse tomorrow!”

 _Urgh_.

*****

Louis gets to the all-too familiar front steps of Full Control nearly an hour early, too nervous about being back, too sleep-deprived from being up all night, too grumpy from having a half-hearted wank because he actually decided to listen to Niall. If he didn’t know better, Louis would think that Full Control was a pretentious music label or some high-end graphic design company. Its minimalism doesn’t lend itself to a wild imagination, the white tile floors clicking underneath high heels and monotone suits slipping in and out the doors. Had he taken a different career path, Louis would think the front doors of Full Control was nothing different than any other business building instead of a bunch of people getting filmed having sex.

The receptionist, a short omega with too much blush and a sweet smile, leads him to a light grey leather sofa that makes a squeaking noise every time Louis shifts. He wonders what happened to their old receptionist Brooke, who would always greet him with a middle finger and sly grin while smacking her gum. Glancing around, Louis realises that he doesn’t recognise anyone. A wave of fear runs through him, quick and short like being shocked, and he rubs his sweaty hands up and down his thighs.

He feels twenty again, sitting on this couch just like he did years ago waiting to be interviewed for a job his mate told him about. Easy money, no contracts, no bullshit. It sounded cheap, whenever his friends would ask him what his new job was and he said in the simplest terms, _just sex on camera_. It sounded sleazy, when his ex-boyfriend had spat at him _so you get passed around like some kind of rag doll?_. At the end of the day, Full Control was exactly what his mate told him it was—no bullshit that just made him feel like shit. Life can be funny that way; work out exactly the way you want it to, and have you still end up feeling miserable as fuck.

An unfamiliar beta guides him to the second floor, down a corridor until they stop at a meeting room. He opens the door for him and tells Louis that someone _will be here in just a few moments_ and _would you like anything to drink, Mr. Tomlinson?_ followed by _did you hear me, Mr. Tomlinson?_ but Louis can’t think, can’t concentrate on anything else.He smells them before he sees them. Filling up his airways so quick he feels like he’s about to be suffocated with it, break into a coughing fit, get slick dripping down his fucking thighs if someone doesn’t pop open a window and air out the room. 

For a place with no contracts, Full Control still had a firm hand on the few rules that were in place. Alphas signing waivers that they wouldn’t knot unless specified, actors would give two weeks notice of their heat or rut, and no alphas outside the actors were allowed in the company. Omega scents were always too strong that alphas had their own room before shooting even started—having any other alpha was just too much of a risk. Stepping inside Full Control all those years ago was like a breath of true, fresh air. Without the heavy scent of all the alphas he’d smell outside, Full Control was a clean place for scent, for a place that was the exact opposite in every other aspect.

When he sees the alpha, his brown hair curling around the top of his neck and his broad back that’s filled out over the past couple of years, Louis freezes for a moment. The alpha turns around, Louis’ surprised expression mirrored on his own for a fraction of a second before he schools it into a big, yet shy grin and a wave of his huge hand. With his nostrils flared, Louis knows that he can smell him, too.

They never hired alphas, except for—

“Harry,” Louis whispers with a strained voice, only because he’s trying not to breathe in his scent. It probably sounds like he’s trying not to choke and Harry quirks an amused eyebrow. “What are you doing here? Your shelves got tired of carrying your Oscars so you wanted to go back to your roots?”

Louis hasn't seen him in ages, not since he abruptly left. For a moment, he wants to throw out a quick apology, but he's not the one who left. Harry’s pink lips just stretch further across his face, his dimple carving into his cheek. For all their time apart, it’s a relief that Harry can still take Louis’ blunt remarks. “Niall called me, desperate for some sort of photographer, director or something,” he replies, his voice ten octaves deeper than when Louis last heard it years ago. 

They don’t have much of a history, except for chatting in between shoots of Louis getting pounded by some alpha or running around the company after pulling a prank on someone. They’re like classmates who only saw each other during a certain window in each other’s day, but not much outside of it. He and Louis only really shared a handful of months passing snacks between them until Harry’s internship as the assistant to the director snowballed into better opportunities for him on bigger, less cock and balls-filled sets. 

He never found out how Harry became the exception to the golden rule, settling on the fact that he either fucked a higher-up omega, paid a higher-up beta or omega, or was related to someone. Louis wouldn’t be surprised if Harry, doe-eyed and dimpled cheeks (that might as well have been his resume), waltzed up to Brooke to bat his eyelashes and got a job offer on the spot. 

“Jesus, you could’ve given me a fucking warning,” Louis grits through clenched teeth. “Put it up on a billboard, hire someone to run down the streets with a megaphone yelling it out, or—or scream it yourself from the building window before I rounded the corner.” 

Harry laughs, eyes crinkling the same way they did that time Louis choked on an ice cream bar and Harry had barked _I guess you’re just that good of an actor, yeah?_

If Louis wasn’t so busy trying to steady his breathing, he would try to catch up on all the ways three years has changed the him. He looks like an alpha now; a quick once-over shows that he’s taller—even with his horrible posture—and the baby fat on his cheeks have dissolved, now showing off his chiseled cheekbones and sharp jawline. His brown ringlet curls have softened, now wavy tufts styled into something that resembles a bird’s nest on his head that could only look that good on someone when you have a face like Harry’s. 

“Ah, I actually did think about screaming, but I didn’t want people to think I was shagging someone before the job even started,” Harry replies, leaning back on a table behind him with a boyish, dimpled grin.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Please, you’ve fucked in every room in this building.”

Harry just shrugs and Louis can already hear his silent drawl of _welllll…_ He’d gotten pretty familiar with the way Harry could answer something without really saying anything and leave it as that. The fact is that Harry wants to talk when he wants to and when he doesn’t, it’s nothing more of a shrug that’s somehow still polite.

“Are you—” Harry cuts himself off to subtly cover his nose by pretending to scratch at it, “are you coming back?”

Louis scoffs, nervous and high-pitched because he’s about two inhales of Harry’s scent away from slicking through his trousers. Harry probably smells it, his nostrils flaring and jaw clenched tight. “No—no, I hate to burst your knot, but I’m just here for Niall and the, um. New products.”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“What?”

“ _Louuuuuuu_!”

Before Louis can turn around, he’s tackled from the back and has Niall’s arms wrapped around him, his nose nuzzling into his neck. He hears a faint growl, so quiet he would’ve missed it if he wasn’t so sensitive, skin burning at the slightest touch, ears attuned to everything. He catches himself on the table before he can stumble into Harry, who’s staring at where Niall is still attached to his neck.

“Fucking hell, mate, wet enough that even I can smell it,” Niall laughs, finally letting go and smacking his arse. Louis yelps and turns to face him, wearing a deep scowl. “Eager to get back, eh?”

There’s a loud clatter of noise, a whispered _fuck_ and then Harry scrambling around, kneeling down to pick up whatever he dropped.

“You didn’t tell me that an alpha was going to be here,” Louis narrows his eyes at Niall and cocks his head at Harry. Behind him, he hears Harry shuffling around to busy himself like he isn’t the topic of their conversation. It’s not Harry that has him slicked up like a virgin in heat, not exactly. It’s an alpha being around him in the least expected place, even though it was only ever Harry who was the exception.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Niall shrugs unapologetically. “Actually, I have another su—“

The door creaks open and a man with dark brown, gelled back hair in a gray suit that looks a size too small strides in. Instead of accentuating his broad back or heavily bulked arms, the suit only makes him look like he’s one cough away from tearing it all apart at the seams. He makes his way across the room, his large shoulders squared back and his arms still at his side. The tight smile plastered across his face tells Louis that this man has spent time practicing the smile in front of the mirror. He’s the type of person who’s spent so long getting ready that he would’ve been better off showing up with his ballsack out his trousers. He looks like he belongs in Hollywood, like he’s the most hated person on Real Housewives of Fuckery Hills.

Despite all of this, the one thing that stands out the most, the thing that Louis knows before he’s looked at him for even a minute, is that he’s an alpha. The scent, mixed in with Harry’s, hits him like a fucking truck and he can’t help but cover his nose with his hand. He wants to run out of the room and dunk his entire body into ice water because right now, he feels like he’s in the center of the sun.

“Christ,” Louis coughs because he just can’t hold it in anymore, “Sorry, I don’t mean to come off as unprofessional, but…” he trails off to take a deep, steady breath. “ _Fuck_ , aren’t you an alpha?”

It’s like breathing in clean air for years, only to step back and have it smell like the Christmas section of Bath and Body Works. It’s not terrible, but it’s enough to get him dizzy, especially because Louis didn’t expect it. Harry walks over to a window and messes with the latch until it finally opens, probably not so much for Louis’ sake as much as for his own.

The man stretches out his hand toward Louis and Louis hesitantly shakes it. “I am an alpha,” he says, “I prefer to go by Timón Powell, though. Nice to meet you,” he says, showcasing his bleached teeth.

“Timón… is that short for, uh, Timón...thy?” Louis asks.

“No, no, _Tee-món_ , like mon amour. It’s French,” Timón corrects in his heavy, non-French accent.

An awkward silence blankets the conversation; Timón just smiling at Louis without any hint of expression, so much so that he’s starting to resemble a robot whilst Niall giddily taps away on his phone.

Harry coughs beside him. “Your name is French or just mon amour?”

Louis presses his lips together to stop the laughter that wants to break out. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry’s dimple tells him that he’s trying to do the same. “What happened to Si-“

Timón raises a hand and laughs haughtily before Louis can finish. He makes a vague gesture of his hand and Niall immediately pulls a chair out for him to sit before he does the same. Louis furrows his eyebrows in confusion before he and Harry pull out their chairs next to each other.

“I’ve replaced him,” Timón says with the same pride of a man who just announced he’s saved a pregnant woman, a sick grandpa, and a three-legged dog from a burning building. “He can’t run a company if his life depended on it and he was minutes from running this place to the ground before I came in.”

Louis flicks his eyes to Niall, who only offers him a face-splitting grin and a thumbs up. “But you’re an alpha,” Louis states pointedly.

“One of the few changes I’ve made to Full Control,” Timón replies. When he sees Louis open his mouth, he raises his hand again. “But we’re not here to discuss that. We’re here to talk about you being the face of our new products.”

Louis stares at Timón’s hand, the one he shook just five seconds ago, the one who’s interrupted him two times in the span of two minutes. Ever since stepping foot back in Full Control, he’s felt twenty—oddly out of place, small, and insecure. Looking at Timón’s hand, it reminds Louis that he isn’t actually fucking twenty anymore. He’s not sitting in front of a bunch of strangers who’ll eventually see him in the most exposed ways possible, getting interviewed for a job he barely knew about. For the first time sitting in this room across from Timón, Louis has the upper hand.

“I’ve never agreed to anything,” Louis says firmly, sitting straighter in his chair. “You guys asked me to be here, so I think it’s only fair to know what I’m walking into, including any changes that you’ve made. You’re abloody _alpha_. Full Control doesn’t hire alphas.”

With a slight glint in his eyes, Timón smiles wider, a certain expression colouring his face for the first time. He gazes at Louis for a beat longer than what’s comfortable, enough to make Harry fidget next to him, that eventually he realizes that Timón’s not really impressed or fascinated by him. He finds him entertaining, as if he’s somehow undermined him before he even got to see him. Timón finds him entertaining in the way that a dancing monkey on the side of the street can entertain a group of people—fun until their attention is drawn elsewhere. 

“Like I said,” Timón replies slowly, “One of the few changes. Full Control started ten years ago and it was one of the first companies to even do porn. I’ll admit it’s gotten successful, I mean, it’s taken down nearly all of its competitors. But Si—” he cuts himself off with a big sigh, “I don’t like to place blame, but he was too focused on sustaining the company, not growing it. That’s what I’m here for.”

By the time he’s done talking, Louis’ nearly chewed his thumbnail down to the cuticle, eyeing him closely. The only thing Louis can really do is look over at Niall, who’s watching him just as intently. When their eyes meet, Niall gives a single, firm nod of his head that does little to relieve the tension, but at this point, Louis’ll take that over nothing.

Still, it’s not enough. The leftover tension tips him over the edge and he opens his mouth before he can really think about it.

“Did you fire everyone?”

Timón cocks his head to the side, unwavered. “No, I didn’t fire anyone. They left on their own.”

“Because of your changes?”

“We converted the extra bedrooms to more shooting sets,” Timón replies with a raised eyebrow as if to say _there, satisfied?_ “No employees sleep at the company anymore, so that might have driven some to leave. Employees get one free meal at the cafeteria and snacks are provided for actors, but unlimited and free meals have stopped. Alphas, outside of the actors, are allowed to be employed at Full Control. Those are some of the changes I’ve made.”

Louis fish mouths, pushing his chair back from the table as if that’d get more air into his lungs. “You changed all of that? Are you—are you mental? Some people depended on those things!” Louis cries. “You might as well have thrown them out on the bloody streets.”

Timón adjusts his sleeves before meeting his gaze again. “We gave them compensation for the sudden changes,” he reassures with a small smile. “We’re running a business, not a frat house. Those amenities were there only to keep people from leaving, but that cost us in the end. Since I came on board, employees have stayed longer than before _and_ it isn’t costing us.”

Louis wants to argue, but the only person who’ll be able to tell him if this is the truth is Niall, who only looks at him with blue puppy eyes, the look he gives Louis only when he’s desperate. The single other times he’s been given this look is when he wanted to drag Louis to an all you can eat buffet with an open bar, and when Louis told him he was leaving the company.

“Just tell me what I’ll be doing if I agree,” Louis mutters with a steady voice.

Timón nods his head with a grin as if he’s just won a battle. “Another change is this new line of products we just developed. We want to expand the company outside of just the porn industry. So if you agree, you’d be modeling the new products in photoshoots and videos—all shot and directed by Harry.”

“That’s why I asked Harry to do it with you since we hire alphas now,” Niall adds in the same way a parent would tack on at the end of a long lecture on the benefits of steamed vegetables _and if you children are good, there’s dessert with your names on it_.

He says _we_ as if he’s rightfully chosen a side because suddenly the meeting feels like some sort of battle that they’re both trying to win. Louis feels like it’s _us vs them_ and for the first time since sitting down, he looks to his side at Harry. He looks a bit… well, bored. Blank, spaced out eyes staring at the wall across them, head propped up on one hand whilst drumming his fingers on the table with the other, his leg bouncing in place as if he’s itching to get out. Harry’s only staring at the wall for a second before he turns to Louis, his face softening just a bit, just enough to let Louis know which side he’s on.

“I’m sorry if it’s a lot to take in,” Timón mutters, breaking the silence. “You can talk it out and let me know your decision.” He makes a move to stand, but stops himself and looks at Louis again, his brown eyes unwavering. “I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. I do want what’s best for the company.”

He gives a curt nod and Niall jumps to his feet, pulling out Timón’s chair as he stands. “Do you need any water? Tea or coffee? I think Full Control has some new energy drinks that might be ready to sample.”

Their voices drift off until they’re finally cut off by the soft click of the door closing.

“He seems like a nice guy,” Harry muses, standing up. He stretches his arms over his head, a sliver of skin showing from his raised shirt. Louis’ eyes linger before he furrows his eyebrows up at him.

“Yeah, he seems nice and I’m a virgin,” Louis smiles softly.

“Don’t you just love when alphas go around acting like pricks?” Harry muses. “He might as well have whipped his cock out and waved it around like a kid winning a stuffed animal at a carnival. That would’ve at least saved us from hearing him talk.”

“Mate, I would’ve claimed worker’s comp if he made me look at his cock,” Louis grumbles.

Harry grins down at him and sits on the edge of the table, long legs swinging. “He’s just on some power trip,” he says easily. “Obviously thought he had the advantage of being the new alpha CEO. He was probably expecting some quiet omega to take whatever he had to offer.”

“Now I don’t even want to do it at all,” Louis sighs, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. “I mean, the whole point of having a beta in charge was to be fair, wasn’t it? So they wouldn’t favour omegas or alphas.”

Harry hums thoughtfully. “He’s an arsehole, but maybe he does just want what’s best for the company. He can be an alpha and not favour them.”

Louis raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Is this your alpha talking? Defending your honour?”

“I meaaaan,” Harry drawls, leaning back on the desk with his hands, “It’s sort of biology for alphas to want to be in charge. I’m not saying that’s an excuse for us to act like dicks, but—but maybe, you know, he’s putting his assets to good use.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, a smile slowly making its way across his face. “And what assets are you planning on putting to use? Besides stinking up the entire building with your stench?”

Harry laughs, low and deep. “I didn’t know you were going to be here. Niall just called me a couple days ago and he did me a favour a while ago, so I figured it was about time to return it,” he says. He somehow manages to look up at Louis even while he’s sat higher on the table, eyes wide and innocent and a slight pout to his stupid, pink lips. “Would it be so bad, coming back and working here? There’s Niall, Liam, and _me_.”

Louis cocks his head to the side. “And how are you?” he asks, digging the toe of his shoe into the floor so hard that it squeaks. “I mean, how are you on all of this?” Louis makes a vague gesture of his hand, hoping that when he says _this_ , Harry hears _Full Control_ and _fuckface Timón_ and _working with me_.

Harry purses his lips, eyes cast down to the floor as he drums his fingers on the table. His rings clink against it, oddly therapeutic in the quick moment of silence before he answers. 

“I’m fine,” he says slowly, almost like he isn’t quite sure himself. “I just wrapped up filming so it’s perfect timing. Working with Niall and, um, you know. _All of this,_ ” Harry’s eyes glance up to meet his own. “Not really something to run away from.”

“No, that was just the first time, right?”

The words leave his mouth before he even registers what exactly he just said. Harry’s eyes harden for a split second, his gaze firm and steady before he softens again. 

“Second time’s the charm?” Harry says, a slight challenge in his tone.

He’s baiting him—Louis has a better chance at winning the lottery than backing down from a challenge—they both know that. The inevitable _yes_ is right on the tip of his tongue, ready to drop from his mouth and set off an explosion that he’s not sure he’ll come out of alive. Three years ago, Louis would’ve said yes to any challenge Harry would offer, even when that came down to Louis and Harry holding hands while they outran the security guards after they caught his bare arse sitting in the CEO’s office chair. _I’ll get you your favourite muffin if you get slick on it_ , Harry had said.

The next morning, Harry had given him a bag of blueberry muffins that they split between the two of them throughout the rest of that week.

But now, three years older and something more than just his bare arse on the line, Louis bites his tongue.

Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

*****

After shooting Niall a _gonna take some time and think about it_ text, Louis goes home, mentally and physically tired, just like he used to feel after a day on set. Filling a glass with wine, he settles himself in bed with his laptop and researches Timón Powell, reading every article in the first five pages of results. He wildly clicks through each one, almost hoping to find one that tells him he’s actually a piece of shit, that he’s exactly the kind of person he saw earlier that day. His frown only grows deeper and his stomach fills with more wine as he reads on, each article raving about how Timón is the best businessman this decade has seen.

He slams his laptop shut and leans back against the pillows, swirling his wine glass as he stares at his faint reflection in the black TV screen across from him. Harry was so quick to go along with it, Louis wonders if he’s making it more complicated than necessary. He doesn’t owe Niall anything and he sure as fuck doesn’t care about being back at Full Control, especially with changes he doesn’t fully know about. 

But. 

Maybe it isn’t about any of that, he reasons. Maybe it’s how it does feel a little nice, coming back after all this time. How it feels a bit like coming home, something familiar and comfortable that settles in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it’s seeing Niall and hearing his laugh echo throughout the building that makes him relax a little bit more. Maybe it’s sitting with Harry and feeling like they’re in that breakroom all over again, talking shit and passing crisps back and forth.

A little more income wouldn’t hurt, either. He can still run his blog and write reviews for all the products that are sitting in his flat and run to the odd audition whilst he works here.

That’s what it is, he tells himself. A little more income, a little more of Niall’s laugh, and a little more of whatever the fuck Harry is going to be. 

Louis hopes that he doesn’t change his mind when he doesn’t have nearly half a bottle of wine in his system when he wakes up the next morning. Times like this, he wishes he had a dog or even a fucking goldfish to talk out loud to, just to seem that much less mental.

His phone vibrates and he opens up the text, smiling when he sees the photo Niall sent. It’s Lucy, her golden fur shining (even in the shitty lighting of Niall’s apartment because he isn’t arsed enough to fix the bloody thing after three months). Louis can tell her tail’s wagging when the photo was taken, too familiar with the way her energy can light up the city. When Louis zooms in on the photo, he sees that she’s got a huge, bright blue strap on hanging out her mouth and looking as if she’s caught the world’s biggest bone.

**niall - lucy said she supports your decision as long as that decision is you saying yes xx**

Louis tips his head back, downing the rest of his wine and nodding his head to himself in defeat.

After all, it can’t possibly be _that_ bad.

*****

They meet again the next day, this time the agreement finishes in an hour after Harry found Niall kicking a vending machine for his crisps and asking for a beta to call Timón. Louis sits by himself, seconds away from sending Niall a _where the fuck are you_ text, when he and Harry burst into the room. Harry doesn’t spare him a glance, instead pulling out the chair next to him and plopping down with breaths so staggered it's as if he just ran a marathon. 

Harry’s eyes fall on the table, wavering and unfocused, with a crinkle between his eyebrows. Niall takes his rightful place across from him with a large bag hung over his shoulder, looking like a cheap, knock-off version of his regular self. For a second, he sees a flash of Timón, the way Niall has a pasted smile that’s directed at him. His shoulders are too tense and stiff where they’re usually lax and loose-limbed. Niall’s putting in too much effort on putting on a show for him, trying to make it seem as if everything’s okay, which only serves to tell Louis how off something is.

When he opens his mouth to ask what the fuck happened, Timón strides in, looking less obnoxious with his hair more ruffled, his suit jacket unbuttoned and eyes less alert than they were before. He looks more real, like someone who’s washed the hectic day away and is about ready to climb into bed. He looks like someone Louis can maybe, just maybe, work with.

“Sorry for the appearance, it’s been a crazy hour,” Timón sighs, but pastes on his Hollywood smile.

Louis ignores his apology, because if he should be apologising for anything, it should be for acting like a prick the day before. 

“I’ll do it,” he says and Niall nearly jumps out of his chair. “I’ll do it as long as you don’t interfere with what we’re doing.”

Timón raises his eyebrows and sits back in his chair, letting out a thoughtful sigh. “I can’t promise you that. I’m the CEO and I need to know what’s going on.”

“You can know what’s going on,” Louis shrugs, “but you can’t interfere. If you trust me and Harry as much as you want us to be involved, then you wouldn’t get in the way or make any changes.”

Timón drums his fingers against the armchair with pursed lips. Louis relaxes in his chair and swivels it from side to side because he already knows the answer. The wonderful thing about alphas is that they’d do just about anything to get what they wanted, and he knew Timón wanted them if he was serious about growing the company.

“That should be fine,” Timón finally says. Louis pretends to look genuinely excited as Timón stands from his chair and shakes both Harry and Louis’ hand. “Niall, can you take over and show them the products?”

As soon as Timón leaves, Niall smiles widely with a gleamy look in his eyes, resembling what Louis imagines Niall would look like when he sees and holds his newborn child. Reaching into the bag from earlier, he haphazardly throws an array of products onto the table: dildos, vibrators, spray bottles. It’s like a sex shop shoved inside of a grocery bag.

“ _Ooh_ , look at this one,” Niall squeals, pulling out a seemingly regular, white vibrator and marvels at it like he’s got a VIP card to unlimited nuggets at McDonalds. “We even got this heating alpha vibrator—“

“A _what_?”

Niall waves the vibrator at him enthusiastically like he’s got a glowstick and he’s at a rave. “Yeah, it heats up,” he says. “You know, like a real cock.”

Louis chokes on his own spit and Harry barks out a laugh, reaching across the table with grabby hands to snatch it from Niall. He peels his eyes off Harry and turns back to Niall. “Jesus, what—what if it blows up? Is it—is it slick safe?” Louis frets.

Niall scoffs. “It’s not going to blow up because it _is_ slick safe. See, you’re a natural at this, Lou.”

“But what _if_ it does?”

“Well then write that in your bloody review when you’re sat in the hospital getting your arsehole stitched back together.”

“It feels like I’m holding an alpha’s dick that’s been chopped off,” Harry comments, rolling the dildo in between his giant hands. He tosses it in the air and wraps a tight fist around it with a contented and approving noise. Harry starts to stroke it, humming to himself with a satisfied smirk. “Hot and hard, it feels nice in the hand. It’s plastic, but it does kind of feel like a real alpha cock. You know,” he spares a sideway glance at Louis and gives a sheepish shrug paired with a cheeky, dimpled smile, “coming from personal experience.”

Louis slams his hand on Harry’s arm because he really, _really_ doesn’t need to see Harry’s alpha hands stroking an alpha dildo all the while smelling his stupid alpha scent. Harry and Niall just cackle together as if the whole purpose of this meeting was to get their own personal shits and giggles at Louis’ expense.

He pries the vibrator out of Harry’s hands and immediately drops it because as much as he hates to admit it, Harry was right—it really feels like a fucking alpha cock. If an alpha cock was made of plastic instead of flesh. “Jesus, what poor alpha did you guys have to sacrifice to get a toy to feel _that_ real?”

“Do you want to see the one with the knot at the base?”

The afternoon zips by after Niall shows them product after product, each one surprising Louis more than the last. With all of the products he’s reviewed, Louis can’t help but give Full Control some credit. He’s never seen a heating alpha vibrator or an alpha dildo that can mimic the feeling of _actually_ being knotted—gracefully paired with a knot and some substance that resembled come so much that Louis was beginning to think it was real. There was a spray bottle that, once Harry spritzed it in front of Louis’ face, smelled so much like an alpha’s scent that he left the room to go into a coughing fit.

If Timón wanted to grow the company, he was on the right path with these products. 

But before leaving, Louis still repeats, once, twice, _three_ times that he’ll drop out if he ever feels uncomfortable or if Timón ever steps out of line.

“Don’t worry about him,” Niall reassures, throwing an arm around Louis' shoulders and squeezing. “He mostly sticks to himself and makes sure the machines are running smoothly to help the company.”

“Ah, yes, because omegas are nothing but bent over machines,” Louis nods, with a snap of his fingers.

“Well-oiled machines,” Harry adds in with a sly grin that has Louis rolling his eyes and biting back a smile at the same time. “Or in this case, well-slicked.”

Louis flicks his shoulder, probably hurting his own finger more than it hurt Harry. “Keep talking shit like that and I won’t be slick at all.”

Harry just throws him an unimpressed glance as they make their way to the lobby. “I don’t have to talk at all,” Harry says. “You slicked up just from being in the same room as me.”

“I think you’re inhaling too much of your own scent—“

“Well, this is gonna be exciting,” Niall chimes in, clapping each of them on the shoulder.

Niall walks them to the front door and salutes them, muttering something about having to help fix a lighting issue. Louis starts to walk to his car while Harry walks alongside him, hands stuffed in his corduroy trousers. His lips are pressed together, but the upward curl of the corner of his mouth hints at a smile and Louis can’t help but knock their shoulders together.

“What’s got you so happy?” Louis asks. It’s too cold and Harry’s too close and warm for Louis to not want to naturally inch closer, so he shoves his hands inside his hoodie pocket instead.

“I just didn’t think I’d end up back here,” Harry replies. “Still feels a bit surreal coming back and working with you.”

Louis gives a hum of agreement. “You thought we wouldn’t see each other again?”

They start to slow down as Louis’ car comes into view and Harry glances down at him. “Not in this situation, no,” he answers.

“And what situation did you think we’d see each other in?”

Once they reach Louis' car, he leans back against the driver’s door as Harry stands across from him, playing with the rings on his fingers as if to buy himself some time before answering.

“Maybe at a pub or some cafe,” Harry muses with a slight smirk. “Somewhere outside of work, for a change. It would’ve been nice, yeah? If only we ever got out of that fucking break room.”

Louis swallows a lump in his dry throat and Harry’s eyes fall to track the movement, his smirk growing wider. For being so casual, it seems like Harry’s given their reunion some thought, like he’s imagined a number of scenarios of them catching up again. Louis doesn’t even remember the last time he thought about Harry on his own, except for when he’d accidentally stumble across a few articles announcing his new movie or the new omega hanging off his arm. 

The only thought that Louis manages to pick out is how he spent months alone in that break room after Harry left without so much of a _i quit full control it was nice knowing you, all the love_ text. Harry didn’t even give Louis the satisfaction of sending him a text telling him off because he changed his fucking number.

“Yeah,” Louis croaks. “Yeah, if only.”

*****

He and Harry part ways after they agree on meeting up again tomorrow for the first shooting and once a week after that to film. Harry proposed meeting the day after tomorrow so Louis could _prepare and get in the zone_ to which Louis threw him a gracious middle finger. Louis’ always in the zone; he reviews all sorts of products every day. So it’s nothing new, he tells himself. Even with the new products he’s never used. Even with working with an alpha director. Even with—Harry.

He’ll be fine.

Once he steps inside his flat, Louis does give himself a nice, satisfying fucking with a new vibrator because if he’s going to get off, he might as well be productive. With Harry’s scent lingering around, it was more out of necessity than pleasure. Sated and loose-limbed, he plops himself in bed with his laptop to type up a review. Louis barely registers what he writes, fingers flying over the keyboard just to finish up before he grabs his phone.

 **louis** **\- neil where art thou**

**niall - helping out and sanitizing all the shit that was used on set today do u want a pic**

**louis - no i dont want a pic of dildos and vibes that were just up some holes. pop over if you can, but only with lucy plssssss**

**niall - miss u too see u soon sweet cheeks xx**

Niall rolls around with Lucy in tow an hour later, looking too happy for someone who’d just cleaned slicked up sex toys and seeing his friend for the second time in a span of a couple of hours. Lucy wags her tail excitedly, jumping on Louis and licking up his face until he eventually wrestles her into his lap, scratching at her belly. He hears Niall helping himself to the kitchen and padding back to the living room with a pint in hand.

Niall shoves Louis’ thigh with his foot, eliciting an ungrateful yelp from Lucy from his lap. She growls at him and Louis attempts to pacify her by leaning down to press a kiss to her head, which seems to satisfy her as she nuzzles into his lap and dozes off again.

“Christ, I’d be better off setting fire to the Royal Palace,” Niall mutters. “But anyway, you all right with everything?”

Louis nods his head slowly. “Wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t,” he replies. “S’bit mad, innit? Coming back to all these changes, bloody Timón, and Harry.”

“Harry isn’t a ghost,” Niall chuckles, taking a swig of his drink.

“What happened before you guys got into the meeting? Did you have some sort of row with him?” Louis asks.

Niall shakes his head and leans into the armrest. “Just taken back by the changes, too,” he answers.

“You could’ve told me about him,” Louis says, fighting not to come across too aggressively. He focuses on Lucy instead, smoothing her fur as he strokes her back.

Niall raises an eyebrow at him. “Why? Does he make some sort of difference to you?”

Louis turns to Niall quickly with his mouth dropped open at a loss for words. Niall just returns his gaze with amusement, the corners of his mouth curled upwards and his eyes twinkling as if he’s holding in some secret. Louis’ sure that he is, but the most frustrating part of Niall knowing everything is whether or not he decides to actually tell you.

“Working with an alpha makes a difference to me,” Louis finally says. "It could’ve been any other knothead and it would’ve thrown me off all the same. So throwing Timón into your fun little cocktail of shit was really the cherry on top, mate.”

Niall cackles, loud and bright, and shimmies himself until he’s pressed tightly against Louis’ side. He wraps his arms around him and pulls him in closer, nuzzling into his shoulder. Lucy lets out an annoyed grunt, only for Louis to follow right after her.

“I’m sorryyy,” Niall whines into the cotton of Louis’ shirt. Louis feels like he’s cradling an overgrown, alcoholic baby and he hasn’t had the necessary years of therapy to handle it quite yet. “I just wanted you so badly.”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “Fuck off, don’t try to dirty talk with me. I’ve already said yes.”

“Oh, you love my dirty talk. Come here pretty mama, let me whisper in your ear,” Niall replies, dropping his voice to a low grit that makes Louis’ dick more flaccid than it already was. Niall brings a hand to the side of Louis’ face to tug him closer and breathes hotly into it.

Louis laughs at the tickle of Niall’s breath and shoves him off. “I’d slick up quicker if Lucy was snorting in my ear and humping my leg.”

Niall loosens his grip on Louis, but stays against his side with a content smile. “So why’d you want me to come over if not for my dirty talk?”

“Harry just looked upset when he came in from the meeting,” Louis sighs and relaxes back against Niall’s arm because it’s warm and firm to have around him. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that, so…” Louis scrunches his nose and shrugs. “Wanted to check and see if everything was alright. He seemed fine, but you’re the one to know everything.”

“You’ve never seen him upset?”

“Not unless you count the time me and George, you remember that massive alpha with too much chest hair, were taking too long with a shoot. The director had to cut so many times and Harry had to keep helping him,” Louis recounts. “I reckon he had a date afterwards that we were making him miss. His breath smelled like pussy so much the next day I could hardly sit with him.”

Niall hums to himself thoughtfully. “He was really just upset about not knowing the changes,” Niall replies. “He’s a director now and wants to know everything going on to make sure he does a good job.” He spares a glance at Louis. “Make sure you’re comfortable and all that.”

“I’m not impressed if that’s what you’re waiting for,” Louis laughs lightly. “The charming alpha who’s a gentleman. I bet he does that with all the actors he works with. That doesn’t earn him another star in my review.”

Niall finishes off his pint and lets out a rather disgusting belch so loud that it jolts Lucy out of her slumber and she scampers off the couch to settle herself on the wooden floors instead. Louis frowns at the missing warmth and scoots closer to Niall, who presses a wet kiss to his temple.

“That’s true,” Niall agrees. “Harry the gentleman. You think he gives out a disclaimer before dicking someone down with that massive alpha cock of his?”

Louis groans.

*****

Louis’ alarm blares off at nine the next morning, startling a scream out of him. He doesn’t even remember setting an alarm, but figures Niall snuck one in last night before he left. Louis stares up at the ceiling after turning his alarm off, letting the quiet settle into his bones for just a couple more minutes before he starts his day. He can’t quite get his nerves to match his steady breathing, feeling like he’s about to jump out his skin.

In a few hours, he’s going to be naked and spread out in front of _only_ Harry. That’s what gets him itching the most—how he’s going to be in front of an alpha that won’t actually fuck him this time around. It feels like a tease, having to play with himself in front of an alpha and then having the most unsatisfying orgasm because something he really needs is _just_ out of reach. Louis almost wishes that he was going to be in a room full of a crew while an alpha fucks him into the mattress. It’d just be easier for Louis to fall back into that familiarity again instead of having to do the work himself while Harry watches.

Once he finally drags himself out of bed, he takes his time in the shower to make sure he’s thoroughly cleaned and spotless. Full Control has employees to help with the upkeep of the actors, something that Louis let slip his mind and painfully regrets when he cuts himself while shaving. He quickly fingers himself, mostly to take the edge off, but also to save from having to prep on set. Louis still isn’t sure how Harry wants to go about everything, which only makes advanced preparation all the better.

Speeding through traffic and only just half wishing that he drove into a building, he parks his car and hurries into the company. Better to just get it over with now that he’s here. Dragging his feet would only prolong the inevitable and Louis wants to rip the band-aid off already.

“Good morning, Mr. Tomlinson,” the omega chirps as soon as he steps inside. “I’m Nancy, the receptionist.”

“You can call me Louis,” he laughs.

Nancy returns with a grateful smile and nods. “Mr. Styles is in room 304, Louis. Would you like someone to show you the way?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” Louis says and gives her a wave. 

As soon as the elevator doors ding open at the third floor, Harry’s scent _fills_ Louis’ lungs. He groans to himself, knowing it’s only gonna get worse from here; so he takes a deep breath of diluted Harry-scented air before opening the door to 304.

Harry has his back to him, but seems to have probably smelled his scent too as he’s less surprised than the first time around when he turns to face him with pink lips stretched in a grin. His hands tamper with a camera for another second before he sets it on a table.

“Good morning,” Harry says. “Got you a cup of tea and muffins.”

He points to the table that has an array of filming products, two cups of tea with steam swirling through the lids, and a paper bag holding his favourite blueberry muffins. Louis can’t help but smile when he sees that Harry remembers his coffee order.

“Cheers, mate,” Louis replies happily and takes a bite of his muffin. Glancing around, he asks, “What lucky toy are we doing today?”

Harry picks up the camera again and takes a quick snap of the bed. He glances down at the camera screen, causing brown locks to fall down in front of his face. He runs a bejewelled hand through them to push them back in place before meeting Louis’ eyes again. 

“I was thinking about the alpha dildo. Not the heating one,” he answers and nods towards the table where the toy lies, long and thick. Harry glances back at Louis, the corner of his mouth pulling at a smirk when he catches Louis staring at the toy. “We can work our way up to that one.”

Louis cocks an eyebrow at him. “I don’t need to work my way up to anything.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry shrugs, but doesn’t offer anything else because apparently that’s an answer in itself.

“Do you need help with anything?”

Harry scoffs and shakes his head. “No, I actually want to get work done today and we can’t do that with broken cameras or messed up lighting.”

“I broke a light _once_ and that was because we had a bet on how long I could hug Brooke for,” Louis argues indignantly. “ _And_ I would’ve won that bet if she didn’t stumble into that light.”

A laugh escapes Harry, the type that’s loud and quick as if it bursts out of him without his permission. “Just go get your hair and makeup done. Come back without your clothes, yeah? So you don’t have to undress here.”

Louis stuffs the remaining bite of the muffin in his mouth and crumbles the paper bag, throwing it at Harry’s chest. He catches it, but pouts at him and rubs at his chest. 

“Is that what you say to all the people you take home?” Louis asks, walking backwards into the accompanying bathroom with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“No, I’m a gentleman. I say, ‘Bend over, whores’ and that does the job.”

Louis laughs so hard he clutches at his stomach and disappears into the bathroom before he allows himself to look too long at Harry's self-satisfied smirk. There’s already an omega in there organising his small set up on the counter and he smiles at Louis when he comes in, gesturing at the chair in front of the sink.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Tomlinson. I’m Zayn,” he says as he starts to floof about with Louis’ hair.

“Louis is fine, mate,” Louis replies, peeking at himself in the mirror.

Zayn says something about how good his skin looks and how nervous he was when he found out he was going to work with him, but Louis can’t manage a response more than just a small smile, a sprinkling of laughter when appropriate, or an encouraging _yeah?_ just to keep Zayn talking and not sit in awkward silence. He’s never had trouble talking to anyone, but suddenly his nerves kick in again, making his skin buzz and his stomach uneasy. He offers an apologetic smile when he shifts in his seat, causing Zayn to smudge the concealer and frown slightly as a result. Louis bounces his leg in his seat and drums his fingers on the armrest to fight off the nerves, but they do little to help him at all. He gets flashbacks of all the times he sat in a chair while he got his hair and makeup done, just a few minutes away from being on camera again. Back then, it was as easy as breathing—he didn’t think about anything at all except maybe what he was going to eat after shooting was done.

Now, looking at himself in the mirror with concealer under his eyes and his hair stiff with hairspray, he sees himself as he was before. With every swipe of Zayn’s makeup brush, Louis grows further and further from himself until he resembles someone he hasn’t seen in a year. If being on set wasn’t enough to kick his nerves into high gear, the makeup and hairspray nearly pushes him over the edge. He looks the part once again—like the porn actor he once was and never thought he’d see again.

“Louis? Are you alright?”

Louis snaps his eyes to Zayn who looks at him with slight confusion mixed with concern. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I’ve barely had my morning tea,” Louis stammers.

Zayn gives him a sympathetic smile and powders his nose one last time before leaving Louis alone to undress. He steps out of view from the mirror, tossing off his shirt and peeling off his underwear and trousers. Louis glances at the bathrobe hanging on the door and hesitates for a moment before pulling it off the hanger and wrapping it around his body. His heart pounds heavily in his chest, so loud he’d be surprised if Harry couldn’t hear it through the fucking walls. 

Even with the AC on full blast, Harry’s scent filters in his nose so strongly that he can’t help slicking up the tiniest bit. Not enough to make sitting on his arse uncomfortable, but apparently enough for Harry to smell it if the sudden tightened grip on the tripod and clenched jaw is anything to go by. Louis pads over to the bed, careful not to trip over any wires, and sits on the edge. 

Harry walks towards the table and takes a deep breath as if standing another foot away from Louis will do anything, grabs the toy and tosses it beside Louis.

“I already did the test shots while you were getting ready, so everything should be good,” Harry says with a strained voice, like the lack of fresh air is physically painful for him.

“Sorry about the—” Louis murmurs, gesturing in the general area of his arse, “I can’t help it. Do you want to open the window?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m just usually on bigger sets with more people so the air’s mixed,” he says. His eyes drop a fraction and he purses his lips, pointedly turning to look at the corner of the bed instead. “Can you, uh—”

He waves his hand in the air in front of Louis as if Louis is supposed to understand. 

“Can I...?”

Harry scrunches his nose and then reaches down to tug the bathrobe over Louis’ crotch and over his shoulder where it’s fallen down. Louis laughs up at him, leaning back on his hands so the robe falls open again. His nerves have dropped to a low thrum in the pit of his stomach now that Harry can’t even seem to meet his eyes. It’s safer that way, probably; Louis won’t slick up like a running faucet and looking at each other would only make both of them nervous. 

“It’s not the first time you’ve seen me naked, Harry,” Louis muses, the corner of his lips curling upwards.

“I know, it’s just—I need to go over a few things and it’s a bit—” Harry cuts himself off, sparing a quick glance at Louis. He lets out a small whine when he sees Louis all but baring himself once again and reaches forward to wrap the bathrobe around him again, this time securing the sash so tightly at his waist that it cuts off Louis’ air supply a little, “—distracting.”

“Whatever you say, director,” Louis says with a shrug and kicks his feet against the mattress. “So, what did you need to go over?”

Confident that Louis isn’t going to flash him again, Harry nods and straightens his back. “Would you prefer to do a photoshoot or film a video today?”

“Both,” Louis answers and laughs lightly when Harry raises both of his eyebrows. “Might as well, right? Get it out of the way and everything.”

Harry just nods quickly and gets to setting up the camera. With Harry adjusting the angle, Louis allows himself to watch how he works. 

Harry’s not the wide-eyed, fumbling intern anymore; where he once tripped over wires and lighting fixtures, his long legs now walk around set with confidence. His hands move like they’re on autopilot and he’s got this crinkle in between his eyebrows while he concentrates, his lips pressed together in a tight line.

With his back turned to him, Louis takes advantage of the moment and slips the robe off, tossing it across the room. He glances down at the dildo lying innocently beside him. He’s taken bigger and a quick morning fingerfuck was probably just enough for him to take it without it being painful if he manages to get slick enough. While he stares down at the toy, Harry steps to the light beside the bed and adjusts it so it’s not too bright on him. Even with Harry closing the gap between them by a few inches, Louis instinctively crosses his legs tighter when his scent gets stronger.

Finally satisfied with his work, Harry straightens his back. When he turns to see Louis’ bare body, he keeps his eyes on Louis with so much concentration that Louis bites back a laugh. Harry’s seen him naked hundreds of times and now he’s looking like a scandalized nun at a strip show.

Harry coughs into his fist. “Okay, I have a camera set up that’s recording, but mostly I’m going to walk around to take pictures and record, too,” Harry says, holding up his camera almost robotically. “So just do whatever feels natural, yeah? I don’t want this to feel too forced or like you’re acting.”

Louis picks up the toy and taps it against his lip, just to get Harry to loosen up but Harry just stiffens even further. 

“So act like I would if I was alone in my room?” Louis asks, tilting his head.

“Exactly. Just pretend I’m not here,” Harry replies in a low, soft breath as he nods slowly.

“Niall should just pay me to record myself at home, then,” Louis mutters to himself, earning a low chuckle from Harry.

Louis lays back down on the bed with his knees bent, shifting his body to find a comfortable spot and to try to shake off the fucking nerves. It’s not as easy as Harry’s trying to make it seem because even in the almost-empty room, there’s still an unfamiliar bed, lighting everywhere, cameras pointed at him, and an alpha recording him.

He closes his eyes, the darkness making it easier to concentrate without the lights blinding him. Louis trails his hand down his chest, his fingers ghosting over his nipples, until he reaches his cock. He’s only half hard, but the shock of his own hand makes his hips jerk and a quiet gasp escape his lips. With one hand stroking himself, he blindy reaches to his side with the other hand until he finds the dildo.

Louis hitches his legs up, hopefully spreading them enough for a good shot, and teases his rim with the tip of the dildo. He can’t help it when he lets out a whine, throwing his head back as he pushes the dildo in. He’s tight, tighter than he thought even after his fingerfuck. He might as well have fucked himself with a pen because it burns and he tries to control his face so he doesn’t wince, but his fingerfuck definitely wasn’t enough. He bites his bottom lip more out of pain than trying to look good for the camera and pushes it in further, letting out a _fuck_ as he curls his toes.

Tightening his hand around himself, he swirls his precome that’s leaking at the head, using it to ease the glide as he strokes himself. His legs are getting tired from holding themselves up, but he ignores the pain and pulls the dildo out slowly before pushing it back in with a high-pitched whine and—

Louis hears a loud thump and his eyes burst open only to quickly close them to avoid getting blinded. He rubs his eyes and tries to sit up without shoving the dildo deeper.

“What happened?” Louis asks with a dry voice, opening one eye to see Harry pulling the tripod in front of the bed in an upright position.

“Bumped into the camera,” Harry mutters under his breath, hands flying over the tripod to get it right. He bends down to pick up the fallen camera and tries to get it sitting on the tripod again with shaky hands, his bottom lip bitten between his teeth so hard that it looks like he might draw blood.

“Now look who’s breaking equipment,” Louis chuckles, but Harry doesn’t let on. His eyes are focused and glazed over at the same time, glued to the camera but with empty motions as if he’s moving his hands about just to give them something to do. “Christ, and to think I was the one nearly having a nervous breakdown earlier, but look at you.”

Harry’s head shoots up to look at him with a deep furrow between his eyebrows. “You were nervous?”

“Just a little,” Louis quickly adds even though it’s too late. Harry only deepens his frown, his hands relaxing around the camera and takes a step towards him. “I’m fine, it’s just—new. So you acting like a fucking virgin in an orgy isn’t exactly the best thing right now. C’mon Haz, you’re the director.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighs. “S’new for me too, you know?”

Louis offers him a sympathetic smile. “Just stop being so fucking awkward. It makes me feel like my seventh grade biology teacher is filming me.”

Harry finally, _finally_ laughs, soft and bright and enough to quell the uneasiness in Louis’ stomach. “What, you didn’t have a student-teacher fantasy?”

“Of course I did,” Louis laughs. “But that was with my PE teacher.”

“Ah, should’ve known you prefer them fit blokes,” Harry replies with a quirk of his lips, fingers tapping on the camera and then he abruptly stops, his eyes widening. “Wait, is that why you came in waves when we shot that ‘ _omega cheerleader gets pounded by alpha quarterback in steamy locker room’_ video?”

The memory of that shoot flashes in Louis’ head so fast that a laugh bursts out of him. 

“Mark wasn’t that fit to ever get me to come that hard. Just the fantasy.”

The air feels less tense now, like it’s a little bit easier for both of them to breathe even through the cloud of each other’s scents. Harry’s tight, bitten lips are finally free from his teeth’s power grip and the muscles in his shoulders are noticeably less stiff now that he’s walking around with that horrible hunch of his. Louis feels himself breathing easier too, despite the fact that he’s still got that dildo pressed deep inside him.

“Take two?”

Harry asks it with a twinge of hopefulness and it sounds like some sort of ask for a fresh start. With his shy, pink-lipped smile paired with the dimple and eye crinkle, it’s like the devil’s fucking trifecta. If Louis listened close enough, maybe it could sound like a warning.

Louis nods his head and lays back down on the bed again, closing his eyes. The dildo. He’ll just blame it on the dildo.

And fucking Niall.

*****

It doesn’t take Louis long to fall into some sort of new routine now that he’s added Full Control into his life once again. His days are made up of running to auditions, trying out new products and writing reviews, contemplating whether to adopt a dog or just pay Lucy and Niall a visit, and filming with Harry. 

Louis’ even managed to get a couple call backs from the auditions, only to find out that all the roles include sex and promptly turning them down. It’d be nice, just once, to get fucking _anything_ that didn’t involve sex. He would’ve stuck to porn if he wanted that. Maybe he won’t actually get anywhere in acting if he keeps turning down roles, but well—it’s just be nice to fully step away from getting filmed while having sex.

So it’s a little ironic, kind of contradictory, but mainly Louis’ reality that he’s chosen, when he goes back to Full Control the next week. It’s only their second week of shooting and even after getting tea, chatting with Nancy and Zayn doing his makeup, Louis’ still in the room waiting for Harry. 

He already prepped himself earlier, but he’s just about to finger himself again out of boredom when Harry strides in, arms full of equipment.

“Morning,” Harry smiles, gently laying down the equipment on the floor with a huff.

Louis leans back against the headboard and cocks an eyebrow at him. “Morning,” he replies, tapping his finger on the bed sheets. “Punctuality is key, you know.”

Harry’s got his back to him as he starts to set up the cameras, his muscles flexing underneath his shirt as he gets to work. Louis feels his cock twitch just from watching him and his fingers dig into the sheets to keep himself from touching. He can’t deny that watching Harry so focused is attractive. The way he knows exactly how to work the cameras and where to position the lightings when Louis watched him learn how to do all of this just a couple of years ago makes him almost proud of Harry.

“Did I make you wait long, princess?” Harry smirks at him over his shoulder as he cleans a camera lens. He stands up and attaches it to a tripod, looking through the lens to make sure the angle is good.

“Long enough,” Louis replies, readjusting his robe over himself when Harry scoots the camera closer and his scent fills his nose. “I was a minute away from just getting started myself.”

Harry raises his eyebrows at him, a smug smile hinting at his lips. “Yeah?” His eyes drop to where his cock is half-hard under the robe, lingering there long enough to get Louis to shift around on the bed when slick starts to seep out. “What were you gonna do?”

It’s suddenly a million fucking degrees under the robe, but aside from letting it fall off his shoulder, Louis keeps it on. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he mumbles, trying to keep it light despite his stomach feeling heavy with heat under Harry’s gaze.

“I _am_ the director,” Harry laughs, turning his back to walk towards his bag on the table.

Louis’ eyes follow Harry asn he reaches inside his bag and tosses something on the bed. Louis leans forward and grabs the pink dildo with a knot at the base, a smile ghosting his lips. “This is our chosen toy for the day?”

Striding through the room for a final check and deeming it satisfactory, Harry picks up his camera, nods his head and says, “Action.”

The charge in the air has Louis desperate to get off, his cock steadily leaking against his stomach when he throws the robe off. Unlike the first week where Louis frantically pushed through the shooting just to get it over with, this time he settles into the sheets and teases himself by pinching his nipples until they harden under his touch. His eyes close on their own as he reaches down to stroke himself to full hardness, a loud whimper falling out his lips. Louis hears Harry’s light footsteps pad across the room, the faint click of the camera, and his shallow breathing. His scent is suddenly overwhelming, too strong when Louis’ touching himself like this, and his own hand isn’t enough anymore.

Louis’ hand glides through the sheets until he reaches the dildo and the feel of something hard in his hand, even if it’s plastic, is enough to grind his hips into the mattress. He feels _empty_ , desperate to fuck himself when he’s got Harry and his scent circling the room like some kind of vulture. Bending his knees, Louis teases his pink, slick rim with the head of the dildo and pushes it in.

“ _Ah_ —” Louis moans, throwing his head back when he immediately clenches down on the toy. His head spins just from having the tip in and he barely hears Harry disguise his grunt with a cough.

He squeezes his cock and starts to stroke himself to ease the pain, pushes the dildo in another inch, when Harry coughs loudly again. Louis ignores it and pumps the toy out before driving it back in, his wet dripping around the toy where his rim clenches around it. His fingers trail around the knot at the base that he’s forgotten about and he cries out a whimper. Nothing feels like it’s enough and his whole body feels like it’s on fucking fire with the urge to come. The frustration kicks in when he hears Harry make a choked off noise as Louis tightens his hand around the base and is about to thrust it in again when—

“Cut!”

Louis shakes his head desperately on the bed, but stills his hand anyway. He wants to cry at the frustration, nearly feels tears at the corner of his eyes when he clenches down around the toy because he needs to be filled. He wants to fuck the toy in, to fuck his own hand where it’s still wrapped around his leaking prick, wants to do _anything_ to get off. He hears Harry stomp around the room and the soft thumps of the tripod moving against the floor. Slowly opening his eyes and blinking to adjust to the light, Louis wipes his hands on the bed. 

“What?” Louis says, leaning up on his elbows. He has sweat dripping down his temples and his chest is heaving from his shallow breaths.

“The, the—um,” Harry says, his eyes glued to somewhere around his thighs.

Louis shifts further, the dildo nudging against his prostate and he jerks, fingers clawing into the blanket. “Harry, _please_ ,” Louis grunts like a woman in labour. “I have a dildo up my arse and you have your bloody camera a foot away from it, don’t be shy now.”

“Your slick,” Harry mutters roughly. “You can’t see it well on camera.”

“So, you need me to get more wet?” Louis asks and Harry just gives a sheepish shrug of his shoulders as if that constitutes as a response. Maybe it does because Louis rambles on anyway. “It doesn’t work like that, I can’t just push it out of me.”

“I know that,” Harry says exasperatedly, running his hand through his hair. He frowns at the floor, a slight furrow between his eyebrows and then he looks up at Louis with a softened expression. “Let’s change positions, yeah? Hands and knees?”

Louis arches an eyebrow. “Are you telling me or asking me?”

Instead of answering, Harry falls silent and stares at the slick on Louis’ legs. With dark and focused eyes, he tosses the camera on the bed beside Louis and steps closer until he closes the gap between them. In one swift motion, Harry flips Louis onto his stomach and pulls him up by the pelvis so he’s on his knees. Harry’s hands on his skin seem to burn and Harry squeezes his hips before letting his hands fall. The sudden movement has Louis breathing harshly against the bedsheets, his chest panting heavily as he faintly hears Harry grab the camera and walk further.

“I’m directing you,” Harry answers with a low voice. “Action.”

Louis barely hears him through his breathing, but pats around the bed until his hand finds the dildo. Reaching behind himself, Louis prods the tip against his rim, but it slips off because of how wet he is now. He tries again, pushing the tip inside and whimpering when it slides in.

“Hold yourself open.”

Harry’s voice seems tangible, zipping through Louis like electricity. Biting his bottom lip, he uses his one hand to pull his cheek apart while the other works the dildo in. Louis barely knows what he’s doing at this point and doubts anything is going to be usable. The only thing Louis can focus on is the occasional click of the camera, the wet noise every time he fucks the dildo in, and Harry’s footsteps that sound like they’re getting closer and closer.

A whine slips past Louis’ lips at having Harry right behind him. His scent drives Louis to fuck himself so fast that his wrist starts to cramp up, but he can’t find it in himself to stop. His breathing goes ragged, desperate mewls and whimpers filling the room every time the dildo brushes his prostate or when the knot snags against his sensitive rim. Harry’s own breathing and grunts filter through his foggy mind, making slick drip down his already soaked thighs. It’s too much and not enough at the same time—having Harry near him, but not _with_ him. 

Apparently, that’s a huge problem for Louis.

When Louis takes in a deep breath and nearly chokes on Harry’s scent, he yells, “Cut!”

Louis pulls the dildo out and tosses it on the bed, wiping his sweaty fringe off his forehead before sitting up. He keeps his eyes pinned on the bed sheets while Harry walks to the other camera and stops recording.

“Everything alright?” Harry asks.

When Louis finally looks up, Harry’s got a mixture of concern and frustration written in the lines of his face. His jaw is clenched tight, but his eyes are soft as they search Louis’ face, patiently waiting for an answer. Louis’ cock smears his stomach with precome when he scoots until he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his slick leaving a trail in its wake. Sitting closer to Harry like this with only a few inches and a camera to separate them, Louis sees him better.

A lot better.

“You’re hard?”

Harry glances down himself, at the hard outline in his trousers practically announcing itself and begging for attention, and peeks back up at him. “Yeah. Kind of, heh, hard not to be.”

Louis rolls his eyes and ignores the way his dick twitches against his stomach. It’s not unusual for people on set to get hard, but it’s the first time Louis is on set with an alpha sporting a hard prick who isn’t going to fuck him. It’s a million times harder than the first time now that Harry is shamelessly standing there with his bulging cock like a fucking proud father. The frustration settles into the pit of his stomach, gnawing at him until even his fingertips ache with want.

“You okay, Lou?” Harry presses, voice soft in the silence. 

Louis’ got a dildo he can’t use right now, an alpha with a huge, hard cock just out of arm’s reach, his own prick hard as a fucking rock, and this whole situation being really _fucking_ hard.

“Never better,” Louis flashes a manic smile as he stands up from the bed. His cock painfully sways with every step he takes towards his clothes. Louis quickly pulls them on, slightly wincing as he pulls on his pants and trousers. He doesn’t even really know what he’s doing at this point because throwing his clothes on is probably counterproductive, but—he just needs to get out. 

“I need a fag,” Louis sighs and then glances at Harry’s crotch because he’s human. And weak. “And you need to take care of that. Looks fucking painful.”

Harry gives him a boyish grin, his dimples popping. “Can’t blame an alpha for enjoying the show,” he shrugs. He reaches down to the button of his trousers and starts to undo them when Louis widens his eyes.

“Stop! The fuck are you doing?” Louis asks, his eyes manically going back and forth between Harry’s face and his crotch where his hands are frozen in place.

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Following your orders,” he says it like a question.

He groans and rubs his eyes. “Wait until a lad is out the bleeding door,” Louis grumbles under his breath and then fishes the box of cigarettes out his pocket, shaking them. “Going out for a fag.”

Harry just huffs a laugh and starts to absentmindedly adjust the camera, his eyes intent and focused now that Louis seems okay. When he leaves the room, his feet have a mind of its own and lead him to the back of the company, a long alleyway that doesn’t offer much besides a place to smoke, fuck, or temporary fresh air when it isn’t being clouded by the first two.

It feels like it’s only been a few minutes, but his fag is already halfway gone when the door swings open. He doesn’t bother to turn to see who it is, instead keeping his eyes on his scuffed up trainers and taking another deep inhale. At worst, it’s Harry coming to fetch him like a dog out for a wee. At best, it’s Niall asking him if he wants lunch and pretending that Louis says yes just as an excuse to get himself an extra plate of food. Everyone else in between is probably alphas and omegas fleeting in and out, new faces that Louis won’t recognise.

It’s none of the above. Louis gives in and peeks over to see Liam, an alpha he didn’t expect to see. It shouldn’t be a surprise; Liam’s been at Full Control ever since they started. He was the one Louis shot the most with and they were paired together for nearly the entire last week before Louis left. Seeing him after almost a year makes him feel a little shitty that he didn’t keep in contact with him when he still makes an effort to talk to Niall.

“Bum one?” Liam asks, nodding at Louis’ cigarette that’s nearly down to the filter. He just nods, pulling out the box and lighter from his pockets. Louis lets Liam pull one out and cup a hand around it while he lights it for him. Liam eyes him while he takes a toke, letting it settle in his lungs before exhaling slowly. “Nice to see you again too, mate.”

“What? No—no, of course it’s nice to see you, Liam,” Louis sputters, but still doesn’t meet his eyes. He drops his stub and smothers it into the cement with the toe of his shoe.

It’s a bit familiar, smoking fags together in the shoddy back alley, the way they used to always do after shooting. It’s a bit new, seeing him after all these months. In the end, it’s really just like seeing a ghost in a place you closed the door on a long time ago and didn’t plan on opening again.

It’s two guys, smoking cigarettes and staring at a brick wall on a gloomy Tuesday.

“You don’t look that happy to be back,” Liam points out, voice flat as they both stare at the brick wall. Louis briefly wonders if Liam is thinking about that one time where, after a shooting, Liam fucked Louis against this exact same wall. The shooting was too rushed, too messy, and not enough for what they both needed. Apparently, a brick wall digging into his back, the smell of smoke, and Liam pounding into him ten times harder than before was enough for him.

“Yeah, well,” Louis mutters. He pulls out another cigarette and lights it. He takes an unnecessarily long drag, buying time for no particular reason. He’s never struggled talking to Liam. “I didn’t really expect to be back at all.”

Liam peers down at him and Louis straightens up just a little bit more against the brick wall. They both know it’s for show, Louis could stand on a crate in three inch heels and still be shorter than him. “So it’s true, then? You’re back?”

Louis hums. “Not for that,” he says and he knows that he doesn’t have to clarify what _that_ is. “The new line of shit that you guys are releasing. Niall wants me to be the, the—fuck, I don’t know. Model, I guess.”

“Your acting didn’t work out?”

It’s an innocent question, asked out of curiosity rather than venom. Liam wouldn’t care less if Louis quit to start his own shitty lemonade stand outside his flat. He knows that Liam quit a couple of times only to jump right back, always telling him _why have a 9 to 5 when I could fuck instead?_ Still, Louis can’t help the slight sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Here and there,” Louis takes another deep drag and exhales. “But Niall’s got me working with Harry on the project and I still get to blog and review from home. S’a dream, innit?”

Liam turns his head to arch a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You’re working with Harry? That bloke you always spent your free time with?”

“We weren’t _always_ together,” Louis huffs indignantly. He peers up at Liam with a grin. “I just had a lot of breaks. I reckon it’s because someone kept coming too early or kept losing his momentum.”

Liam laughs and lightly pinches Louis’ arm. “Well, have you _seen_ your arse?”

“Yeah, apparently this arse does quit,” Louis mutters under his breath. 

Louis finally looks up at him, gazing at his side profile. Liam returns his gaze to the brick wall across them, giving Louis a better look at the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that were once faint when they first met. He’s grown out his hair since the last time Louis’ seen him, his brown hair long enough to brush the shell of his ear. It’s a bit ruffled, his neck’s peppered with blooming red-purple bruises, sweat is beading at his temples even in the chilled air. Louis knows what this all adds up to, but seeing it in front of him, _smelling_ it so strongly, hits him a little bit harder than what he anticipated.

“Don’t look so scandalized,” Liam says, peeling his eyes off the brick wall and meeting Louis’ gaze. A smile pulls at the corner of his lips and he nudges his shoulder against Louis’. “I know it’s been awhile, but blogging and reviewing omega products hasn’t turned you into that much of an honest man.”

“Fuck off, your stench just suffocated me. Christ, did you use his cum as body lotion?” Louis asks, giving a showy huff of his nose.

Liam laughs easily, dropping his chin to his chest as he takes another drag. “Is this what I’m gonna have to deal with now that you’re back?”

“Don’t pretend that you didn’t miss me,” Louis replies, nudging him in the side with his elbow.

Flicking the last bit of his cigarette to the floor, Liam pushes himself off the wall. Standing at his full height now, he looks down at Louis with a soft smile. “Not pretending, Lou. We all missed you, you know?”

Louis just nods and when Liam opens his arms, he falls into him easily, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. The alleyway is good, he thinks. Getting fucked, bumming cigarettes, and long-awaited hugs.

*****

Louis knocks and waits for Harry’s rough _come in!_ before opening the door, only to be immediately hit with Harry’s scent. It’s like he can physically feel it slapping him across the face. Even though the room hasn’t changed, Harry’s scent is a thousand times worse than it was before; so much so that Louis can’t help but hold his sweater sleeve to his nose to cover the smell, even if just for a moment. It’s too late though and Louis can feel himself slicking up before he can do anything about it. Not that he could do much except run out the building or fling himself out the fucking window, but his dramatics stop at actually hurting himself so he walks into the room and closes the door behind him.

Harry throws a glance at him over his shoulder, a smile ghosting on his pink lips as he angles the camera again.

“Well, that worked,” Harry says with a slight chuckle, his broad shoulders moving with it.

Louis balances himself with a hand on the wall while he toes off his shoes and socks. “What worked?” he asks and then throws in because he can’t help it, “Mate, you _reek_.”

Satisfied with the camera, Harry turns to watch Louis peel off his sweater. “My wanking worked,” Harry states pointedly, his eyes trailing down Louis’ body before meeting his eyes again. They stare at each other and Harry takes in a deep breath, the corner of his lips hinting at a smirk. “Seems to me you like my _‘reek’_.”

“Oh, get the fuck over yourself,” Louis mutters, climbing onto the bed and unbuttoning his trousers.

“Maybe I should wank every time we shoot. It seems to do the trick,” Harry continues, staring off into space and tapping his bottom lip. He blinks and then grins widely at Louis, eye-crinkles and dimples along with it. “Just doing the civic duty of a director and helping the actor.”

Louis balls up his trousers and pants, now sitting starkers on the bed, and throws them at Harry’s head. Unaffected, Harry reaches up to peel them off his face, but not before taking a shameless, quick sniff. When he catches Louis and his mouth open in surprise, Harry laughs and drops them on the floor beside him. 

He stares at his pile of clothes, the clothes that Harry not only just fucking _sniffed_ but looked smug about it too, and raises his eyes back to Harry. “You’re fucking disgusting,” Louis says.

“If you think that’s disgusting, you don’t wanna know what I did in those sheets,” Harry grins.

Louis turns over on his stomach and groans loudly into the sheets, ignoring his hard prick.

*****

Eventually, Louis needs a rest, his sore rim feeling like a fucking forest fire from how hard he was going. All he wants is the shooting to be done with, but Harry insists that the footage and photos they have isn’t enough. Louis knows that Harry’s too polite to say the truth—the footage and photos they have aren’t _good_ enough.

Louis knows this even before Harry’s said anything, even while Harry mutters out his directorial, polite _good, just like that_ which only made it worse for Louis. He worked the dildo in so desperately, his wrist eventually began to cramp up. It’s just—hard, nearly impossible, to focus on looking good when his cock is hard as fucking steel and he just needs an alpha instead of plastic. Being drowned in Harry’s scent makes his body involuntary scream for what he really wants and it made him bite his lip so hard he nearly drew blood.

The thing that makes it worse, even pathetic, is how Harry seems unaffected. When Louis yells cut, Harry just shoots him a thumbs up and lets Louis waddle over to the bathroom to clean off the slick dripping from his thighs. He barely looks at Louis, head down and eyes pinned on his camera instead with a wrinkle between his brows and bottom lip caught between his teeth. Stinking of himself.

Louis cleans himself off with shaky legs, a sore rim, and damp hair. He practically used a whole packet of wipes to get all the sweat and slick off, feeling as clean as a newborn baby by the time he’s done. When he said he needed a rest, he meant some alone time, but Harry said he’d meet him in the break room and Louis was too hard to argue. Louis wanks himself off, shooting into the toilet and watches the toilet flush as he silently deems it the most unsatisfactory orgasm he’s had in his entire life because—fuck, he can still smell Harry.

After getting dressed, he wanders down the familiar halls and to the lifts. There’s a break room on every floor, but Louis doesn’t think twice when he hits the button for the second floor. The rooms are mainly filled with office workers, away from the filming sets on the upper floors. The office workers tend to eat in the cafeteria or go out for lunch, preferring a different setting to rest their eyes from the computers and leaving the break room almost always empty.

When Louis opens the door to the break room he hasn’t stepped foot for two years, he finds Harry staring at the vending machine with his back to him. His white shirt hangs comfortably off his body, loose but still emphasising the expanse of his broad back. The beige, wide-leg trousers Harry has on reminds Louis of the time when he made fun of Harry’s khaki shorts, bringing a small smile to his face.

“Are you still an Oreos type of person?” Harry taps his finger against the glass and then cranes his neck to throw a smile over his shoulder.

“You say that like it’s offensive,” Louis grins, pulling a chair out and plopping down. “But yes, I am.”

Harry slides a coin into the machine and pushes a button, watching the machine whir to life as it drops the snack down. He crouches down to pull it out with an exaggerated groan and finally turns around. His eyes are cast down on the snacks in his hands as if he’s taken great interest in the ingredients of Oreos and snack mix, because apparently Harry is still that type of person, too.

Before, Louis and Harry would always sit side by side, trying out new snacks and rating them each day as if they were regular mates and not killing time at a porn company. Louis doesn't know how they fell into that natural seating arrangement, but whenever he strolled in after cleaning himself up, Harry would have his snacks ready and pat the seat beside him like they were in grade school. Louis caught him nearly shoving Niall onto the floor to get him off the seat next to him, yelling _move that's Lou's seat_. Harry's round eyes and dimple popping into his baby cheeks would always greet him happily, even if it was just for those short ten minutes, even if Louis reeked of sweat, come and slick.

And now—well, now Harry glances at the table and mulls over his options for ten minutes. At least that's what it seems like as Louis watches him and tries to pretend that it's just a bloody chair, failing to ignore the slight disappointment when Harry pulls out the chair across from him.

"You were good at taking it," Harry coughs. "The last take. You were good at the last take."

Louis reaches across the table and grabs the Oreos, ripping them open and stuffing one in his mouth. "You can say I sucked, Haz," Louis grumbles around a mouthful of biscuit while crumbs fly out. "It's fine."

A frown tugs at Harry's lips. "I would if it did," he says, opening his own snacks and eating a pretzel. "But you were great."

"Oh, come off it," Louis pulls open an Oreo, waving the side with the cream around. "I was fucking myself like I had a bloody deadline to meet."

"Who cares as long as it—can you, ehm—“ Harry clears his throat and shifts around in his seat, hands clenching on the table as he watches Louis’ tongue fall out his mouth to lick the cream.

"No, seriously," Louis takes another full lick of the cream, letting out a satisfied hum and rambles on. “It was like I was an amateur or summat. Niall and Timón would be better off hiring some other omega that just waltzed in, spread their legs and—“

"Lou, please—"

"Maybe I should throw in the towel now, you know? Quit while I'm ahead and let some oth—"

"Can I have that?"

Harry cuts in so sharply, almost desperately, that Louis snaps his mouth shut and arches an eyebrow at him. His nostrils are flared and his eyes are glassed-over where they're pinned on the Oreo Louis' holding, the cream slightly glistening from where he's been licking at.

"My Oreo?” Louis asks.

Harry swallows hard and nods. "Yeah, let me—here, just—" He reaches over and plucks the biscuit out of Louis' hand and pops the whole thing into his mouth, almost chewing violently from how hard his jaw works.

"Jesus, if you wanted an Oreo that badly, you could've gotten your own bag instead of your shitty snack mix," Louis mutters.

"We used to share all the time," Harry points out.

"Yeah, share as in ‘ _here have this Oreo’_ and not ‘ _you can steal my licked biscuit out of my fucking hand’_ ," Louis grabs another Oreo and tears it apart, waving it in front of Harry's face. "Here, do you want this? You know, before I lick it and all.”

"I'm fine with my snack mix, thanks," Harry answers, giving his bag a little shake.

"Say that to my biscuit you just nicked out of me hands," Louis laughs. He watches Harry give his bag a shake, finger scouring the bag intently. When Harry doesn't offer a response, Louis rambles on because their conversations have apparently dwindled down to their choices in snacks. "Glad to see you aren't a changed man either. At least when it comes to snacks."

Harry grins. "These are amazing," he replies. "It's like, ten snacks in one. You never know if you're gonna get," he fingers the bag and Louis tries not to stare too hard until he triumphantly pulls one out, "a pretzel or—you know, one of these cracker bits. See, I've got fun and choices, Lou and you've got none."

"Sod off, I've got dedication and commitment to my biscuits," Louis laughs.

"I do, too," Harry shrugs, that playful smile tugging at the corner of his obscene red lips. "I eat the ones I don't like first and save my favourite one—the Chex ones, by the way—for last. That's dedication and commitment."

"That's you being a fucking psycho," Louis scoffs. "Why go through all that when you can just eat the Chex? They sell bags of just that one."

"No, they don't," Harry shakes his head, brown waves bouncing around.

"Yes," Louis argues slowly. "Yes, they do."

"If they do, which they don’t, they don't sell it _here_ ," Harry says.

"So, what, you just settle for eating through ones you don't like just to get to your favourite?"

"It's not settling," Harry frowns. "I like them and, ehm—sorting through the others isn't settling to me.”

Now they've come to getting defensive over snacks and it's just—sad, really. They used to be able to go on for hours about anything, but now they're milking their snack conversation dry because that's safer than risking silence or a new topic that'll just fall flat. This is worse than being back at square one with Harry where they got along from the word go. This is worse than strangers meeting and having an awkward conversation, hoping that somewhere along the line, they'll suddenly click. This just feels like friends with some history and absolutely nothing to show for it.

Harry crumples their empty bags in his hands, tossing them in the bin. Then he cups one hand under the table and sweeps the crumbs into his open palm, dusting his hands off over the bin because he's just too polite for his own good. It rakes at Louis' insides so much that he heads back to the room on his own, if only because he needs to get away from Harry and his scent, even if it's just for a second. 

On his trek back, Louis thinks about how he should've gone out for a fag instead. He definitely, absolutely, does not think about how snack mix is anything more than just that.

*****

The thing about routine, Louis realises a couple days after the second shooting, is how awfully monotonous it can be. His life consists of phone calls, emails, writing and even fucking himself with the latest toy isn’t fun anymore. At this point, it seems more like a chore to get out of the way rather than something he looked once looked forward to.

Through this epiphany, he realizes that apparently, everything pales in comparison to his shootings with Harry. As frustrating as the first two were, they were at least the diverging factor in his life that got him out of the house, even though he hates to admit that to Zayn, who he’s developed a surprising friendship with.

“I do get out of the house,” Louis pouts, holding his phone between his shoulder and cheek as he dumps his laundry into the washing machine.

He doesn’t need to see Zayn to know that he’s arching a dubious eyebrow at him. “When was the last time you got out of the house?” Zayn asks, quickly tacking on before Louis can answer, “For _fun_.”

“Christ, I’m not a social recluse,” Louis mutters. He starts up the machine and leans his hip against it, sighing to himself. “I’ve just been, you know, busy.”

“Come out to the pub tonight with us,” Zayn offers. “It’ll just be me, Liam, Harry and Niall.”

“Oh, really?” Louis asks, laughing. “Because I thought when you said ‘us’, you meant the Kardashians.”

Louis can practically hear Zayn roll his eyes. “I’ll see you tonight,” Zayn replies. “And if I don’t, I’ll fuck up your makeup and make you look orange on the next shoot.”

That’s how Louis finds himself playing with a loose thread on his sweater, twirling it around his finger as he stares at the floor later that night. He mentally runs through a list of excuses he can throw at them: his sister broke up with her boyfriend and she needs a shoulder to cry on, he forgot a deadline for a review was tonight, or he’s going into heat.

Louis knows nothing will work.

He calls Zayn anyway.

“Hey, we just got here,” Zayn picks up, his voice getting drowned in the music, glasses clinking against each other, and sea of other peoples’ voices and laughter. “Are you almost here?”

Louis gives a slight cough and a snuff of his nose. “I think I might be coming down with something,” he croaks, opening the kitchen cabinet and smacking his hand around the mugs in there to make it sound like he’s about to make a cup of tea. “I think I’ve got Niagara Falls coming out my nose and it’s like someone shoved a chainsaw down my throat.”

“You sound better than when you deepthroated that cocky alpha’s knot,” Zayn scoffs, unimpressed. There’s a silence and Zayn quickly adds, “I told you I watched your videos before I got a job at Full Control.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Louis’ lips. “You want my autograph, Zaynie?”

“Sod _off_.”

Louis makes a face to himself because Zayn isn’t wrong; his voice was shot and he couldn’t talk for the next couple days. “Okay, but I really think I’m coming down with something,” Louis continues.

“You know I love you and I think you’re an ace actor, but come off it,” Zayn replies. “Besides, he’s gonna get all worried and ruin the whole night if he thinks you’re sick at home.”

“Who, Mummy Liam?” Louis drops the act and laughs.

Zayn hums. “Yeah, we’ll go with that,” he chuckles. “Get your arse up and hurry up. The others will be here soon.”

Before Louis can get anything else in, Zayn promptly hangs up on him. He was setting himself up for failure, really, so Louis can’t find it in himself to be more annoyed. Dragging his feet like he’s got an anchor chained to his ankles, he makes his way to his bedroom and swings his closet door open. Louis isn’t looking to pull tonight, so he grabs the first things his eyes land on: a pair of denim jeans, a plaid button up and a maroon sweater. He quickly gets dressed and makes sure his hair looks somewhat decent because even if he isn’t _trying_ to pull doesn’t mean he’s against it if anything were to happen.

Louis catches a cab, the late evening sky softly illuminated by the streetlights as he whips through the streets. The thought of some alcohol and being around his friends sends a thrumming under his skin, like he can’t wait to get out of the cab and get a pint in him. It’s been awhile since he’s properly been out—one where he didn’t have the intentions of taking someone home or getting piss drunk just for the hell out of it. Liam will take care of him, Louis figures as he stares at the passing buildings, dimly lit under the streetlights.

Slowing down in front of the pub, Louis parks the car and heads out. The cold air seeps its way through his clothes and he hurries in, shoes scuffing against the pavement and his cold breath forming clouds. Once he’s inside, he’s shoving his way through groups of people, contorting his body to make his way closer to the tables and he immediately sees Liam and Zayn sitting at a booth against a wall near the middle of the pub.

“Thought you were a second away from calling and telling me you purposely got into an accident,” Zayn says as his way of greeting, eyes following Louis as he sits down across from them.

Louis moves his fringe out of his eyes to make sure Zayn has a good look when he rolls them. “Wouldn’t have had to get myself into an accident if you just let me stay home.”

“You’re gonna thank me,” Zayn raises an eyebrow at him and leans back into the booth. His hair looks wet and Louis can’t tell if he’s just taken a shower, if it’s greasy, or if it's a product, but whatever it is, Zayn manages to pull it off. He hasn’t taken his brown suede jacket that sits over his holed black T-shirt off even though the pub is starting to get warm and Louis almost calls him out for keeping it on for the sake of his outfit.

“Why would I do that?” Louis cocks his head to the side, the corners of his mouth pulling up. “Unless you’re gonna be buying rounds tonight.”

“Oh, there’s Haz and Niall!” Liam glances over the entrance, waving his hand enthusiastically.

Louis turns to look over his shoulder and sees Niall and Harry, pink-tinged cheeks and rubbing their hands together to fend off the cold. Harry shrugs his coat off as his eyes scan the room, smiling when his eyes land on their table and gives a little wave as they make their way through the crowds of people. 

Louis, Liam and Zayn stand up as they approach the table, shuffling out of the booth. Niall immediately throws his arms around Zayn like a soldier coming home to his wife and Liam hugs Harry, muttering about how good he looks now that he’s bulked up. Niall meets Louis’ eyes over Zayn’s shoulder and shoves Zayn away, flinging himself at Louis even though they just saw each other yesterday. Louis finds himself tightening his arms around him because even though Niall has the energy of a newborn Chihuahua, it’s also hard not to match his enthusiasm.

They pull away and Niall announces that he’s going to get the first round of beer, happily making his way to the bar. Louis starts to shuffle down his side of the booth, feeling the bubble of excitement in the pit of his stomach at having some alcohol in his system soon.

“Heyyy, what about me?”

Louis peers back to see Harry with a small frown, hands clasped together in front of him with his long coat held in between, swinging his shoulders from side to side. Louis arches an unimpressed eyebrow at him and goes back out of the booth. Harry smiles now he’s got his way and Louis scolds himself for being so easy. Harry leans down to engulf him, hooking his chin over his shoulder with a sigh.

Even with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and other peoples’ scents, having Harry and his pheromones this close is enough to make him want to pinch his nose. Louis pats his back twice as a silent ‘ _alright mate, that’s enough’_ , but Harry only tightens his arms around him.

“You owe me this,” Harry mumbles.

Louis pulls back to face him, only to be met with tufts of Harry’s brown waves in his face. “I don’t owe you shit,” Louis retorts. He almost lets something bitter slip out, something about how Harry’s the one who owes _Louis_ an apology. He isn’t buzzed enough for that just yet so at the risk of making the night awkward, Louis bites his tongue instead. “If anything, _you_ owe me,” he settles instead.

“Mm, alright,” Harry mutters with a contented noise that makes his chest grumble. Louis feels it trickle down his own spine.

They’re still pressed against each other and with Harry’s stench and warmth surrounding Louis, it’s enough to get him slick. It’s barely anything, nothing that he should get worried or nervous about— except that it happens when he’s right against Harry. He knows Harry can smell it as soon as it happens, his arms tightening that little bit more, nose digging into the collar of his sweater.

“Jesus, you guys going for the Guinness World Record for longest hug or what?” Niall announces, balancing pints to his chest with one arm and a bowl full of crisps in the other. “I would have bought you two Guinnesses if you’d given a lad a fucking warning.”

Louis jumps, dropping his arms from Harry’s shoulders and leaning back, but that only pushes their chests closer together. He feels Harry’s breathy laugh warm up the side of his neck before he lets Louis go. Niall sits across them with Zayn and Liam, sliding a drink to each person as Harry and Louis make their way back into their side of the booth. As soon as he sits down, Louis wraps his hands around the cool glass. Across the table, Zayn raises a curious eyebrow at him and he challenges him back with a quirk of his own, tipping his glass towards him as he takes a gulp of his beer.

Harry leans his side into Louis, hunching over to look at his beer. “I don’t even know what kind of beer you like,” he murmurs. “I know how you like your coffee and tea, but I don’t know what kind of beer you like.”

Louis knocks his glass against Harry’s before taking another long sip, never breaking their eye contact. It’s easier to handle Harry’s scent with alcohol in his system, so he indulges and takes another large gulp. 

When Louis puts his glass back down, his drink is already nearly halfway gone. He licks his lips, tasting the remnants of the beer. “Take a lad out more often and I might just let you know.”

Harry’s eyes don't leave his own, staring at him like he’s some sort of serial killer. “Or I’ll just get more alcohol in you and find out that way.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re the creepiest fuck in this pub trying to take advantage of me,” Louis laughs.

Harry laughs with him, seems to be only doing that because he’s mindlessly following whatever Louis does. “No, I’d just take care of you,” he replies, his eyes still focused on him. “Won’t complain if you let a secret or two slip out, though.”

Louis _does not_ have enough alcohol in him because he feels it, his slick threatening to seep through his fucking trousers. Harry smells it the moment it happens, a smug grin spreading across his face as he finally takes his eyes off him and leans back, taking a sip of his own beer only to glance sideways at him yet again. He smiles knowingly, his dimple carving into his cheek. Louis would try to kick him, but with his body lax and his mind buzzed, he’d probably end up kicking poor Liam.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Liam smiles and looks around the table at each of them.

“Yeah, I’m surprised we all haven’t gotten together before,” Zayn agrees, relaxing back into the booth.

Niall scoffs and points the neck of his beer bottle back and forth from Louis and Zayn. “I reckon it had something to do with you lads being too knackered from taking some alpha cocks,” he retorts, somehow managing to laugh and drink at the same time. He lets out a satisfying _ah_ and caresses the pint as if it were his long lost love. “I think you’re the only one here who hasn’t hung out with all of us,” he shoots a pointed look at Louis when he’s about to argue, “outside of work.”

He might have a point, but Louis won’t voice that. “Sorry a lad is busy! I wouldn’t be surprised if you somehow found out a way to break the law of physics to be in two places at once, Niall,” he says instead. “Besides, I’ve hung out with Harry outside of work before.”

Harry turns his head to face Louis with a curious gaze. “Coincidentally meeting up in the parking lot and walking into work doesn’t count.”

Louis stammers, racking his brain for a time where they were together outside of work. There was the time at the coff—no, Harry called him saying that he saw Louis passing by while he stood in line getting their muffins and coffee. Maybe that time at the cine—nope, it was only Harry and Louis talking about the same movie they watched over the weekend at different theatres.

Nothing. Empty. Absolutely fucking blank.

Harry watches him with amusement, propping his chin on his hand and Louis is suddenly overwhelmed yet again with the need to kick him under the table. He does this time, except he accidentally kicks Zayn who cries out, rubs his shin and scowls at Louis.

“Alright, fine. We haven’t hung out outside of work,” Louis relents. He wants to smack Harry’s smug grin off his face. “We’re here now, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“How _did_ you end up working there, anyway?” Liam asks, cocking his head to the side in curiosity. He grabs his pint, swirling it around as he keeps his eyes pinned on Harry. Even with their time apart, Louis can recognise the way Liam can go from friendly to intimidating in a second, how his brown eyes coupled with the firm line of his lips can make you feel like you’re sitting in an interrogation room. Liam can be a giant teddy bear in one moment and all alpha in the next, which is great for porn, but sitting with him like this in the booth it’s unsettling, even if it’s not him who’s under Liam’s intent gaze.

Glancing over at Niall and Harry, Louis sees them exchange a quick glance and he furrows his brows when he sees them fidget in their seats. The memory of their fight before their meeting with Timón flashes in his head, but before Louis can think about it any further, Niall reaches over and shoves a handful of chips into his mouth.

“Just had a word with Si—” Niall chokes around a mouthful of crisps, pounding on his chest like a mad man and gulping down his beer, “Christ, nearly fucking died and you lot just watched! Fucking cheers lads! Anyway, put in a good word and it was just an internship, so they were all right with it.”

“You kind of left early though,” Liam presses. He leans forward, elbows on the table and a wrinkle between his eyebrows. All that’s missing is a policeman outfit and Louis thinks he’ll be good to go. “Don’t think we really heard from you. What happened?”

Louis is taking a sip of his beer when he accidentally tips it too far, beer dripping down the sides of his chin. He wipes at his face with a napkin a little too roughly and fights to keep his eyes on his pint instead of peering over at Harry. Liam innocently waits for Harry’s answer while Zayn shifts in the booth, swirling his beer in circles. Niall’s relaxed back in his end of the booth, carefully watching Harry and even though he seems to know everything, Louis’ not even sure if Niall knows why he left so suddenly.

“Some assistant director dropped out and they needed someone right away,” Harry explains with an even slower drawl than usual. “It was for a big movie with a proper set, ace actors and everything, so… I just jumped on the chance.”

Louis’ gnawing at his bottom lip so hard that he’s threatening to draw blood. He takes a quick swish of his pint because now that he’s got some alcohol in his system, it’s like he can use it as an excuse if he says something stupid. Something he might regret. Something like—

“So you jumped out on us instead?”

He hates himself the moment he says it and decides to finish off his beer like it’s his consequence. Louis sees Harry flinch beside him, his once loose body going rigid. Across the table, Liam and Zayn share a quick look while Niall, for once, takes his time finishing his drink. Harry freezes for only a second before he heaves a big sigh, his broad shoulders moving with it, and takes a large gulp of his drink.

Harry turns to him with his lips drawn downwards in a slight pout. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. He says it so softly but somehow it manages to sound louder than the booming music and chattering of other people. Harry coughs into his fist and faces the others. “I’m sorry, lads. I just—you know when something big happens, something you’re not even sure you can handle but you do it anyway? It just turned into a whirlwind. So… so I just went with it and didn’t look back,” Harry runs his fingers through his hair and looks at Louis again with a crinkle between his eyebrows. “I’m sorry.”

Louis stares at Harry, his wet lips, tousled hair, and glassy-eyes stare back, searching Louis’ face for some sort of forgiveness. The words _it’s okay_ on the tip of Louis’ tongue. It’d be easy to forgive Harry like this, when they’re both buzzed and can laugh it off the next day. He can feel the eyes of the others burning holes into the sides of their faces, as if they were their own personal reality show. Louis contemplates flipping them off just to cut the fucking tension.

“Carlsberg.”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“Carlsberg,” Louis repeats, brushing his fringe off his forehead. “That’s my favourite beer.”

A slow smile creeps onto Harry’s lips and he nods his head, a brown wave falling down. “Yeah. Yeah, alright. Do you want another round?”

He claps Harry on the shoulder with a saccharine grin. “There’s a lad.”

Harry just beams back at him like he’s been rewarded, nods his head once and dashes off to the bar. He trips on the way there, stumbling into the person in front of him. Louis laughs as he watches him blurt out his apology with his hands pressed together in front of him and saluting the affronted person before disappearing.

“Jesus, smile more and this pub will be brighter than the center of the fucking sun.”

Louis jerks his head up and glares at Niall and Zayn staring back at him. Liam just happily smiles between them, all soft puppy eyes and hunched in shoulders so the other two can have space in their side of the booth.

“Fuck off,” Louis sneers. “Let me be happy about free alcohol.”

Niall barks out a laugh so hard he goes red in the face and clutches his stomach. “Lou, I’ve bought you an entire paycheck’s worth of beers and you’ve _never_ looked at me like that.”

“That’s not saying much considering your paycheck isn’t that grand, mate,” Louis retorts and laughs when Niall flips him off. “But, um, out of curiosity… What do I look like?”

“You look like Niall when someone like Bill Gates buys _him_ an entire paycheck’s worth of beers,” Zayn says, throwing an arm around Niall’s shoulders and giving him a shake.

Liam chimes in then, starting up a lecture on the damages of too much alcohol and Louis naturally tunes out. He loves Liam, but lecturing his three mates about alcohol while they’re on their second round at a pub isn’t the best way to get them to listen. Their voices start to meld together into some horrible yet harmonious conversation that eventually fades out when Louis can’t even bother to occasionally chime in _uh huh_ or _but a glass of wine in bed is some kind of heaven_ or _who cares about calories when it’s free alcohol_.

When Zayn and Niall become engrossed in their own conversation, Louis fixes Liam with a steady gaze. “What the fuck was that about earlier? You played police officer in maybe _two_ shootings and all of sudden you want to interrogate the poor lad?”

“I was just asking the questions you were too afraid to,” Liam cocks an eyebrow at him as he sips his beer.

And—hm. 

Harry returns to their booth with their drinks in hand, sliding one towards Louis with a look of proud achievement. “The bartender recognised me and gave me the drinks for free, so rounds on me tonight.”

“Hey!” Niall cries out petulantly. “Where are our free drinks?”

Harry ignores him, his eyes still on Louis with his lingering smile. Louis just cocks an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. “So you got my forgiveness for free?” Louis asks.

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry grabs a crisp and twirls it in a circle. “What can I say? Forgiveness is cheap, honey.”

“The saying is ‘ _talk_ is cheap’,” Louis clips himself off, leaving out the _dumb arse_ that hangs off the tip of his tongue. “Which is true if you don’t start getting them drinks.” He nods his head to the other side of the table, Niall hungrily eyeing Louis’ pint and fidgeting in his seat.

Harry tosses his chip at Niall, smacking him on the cheek and falling down his shirt. “I just came back and you guys haven’t even finished your first rounds.”

“Talk is cheap, honey,” Louis grabs a crisp and taps Harry’s lips with it before popping it in his mouth.

Harry stares at him for a beat, waiting to see if he’s joking but groans when he sees that Louis is serious. He makes his way out the booth and starts over to the bar with a hunch in his shoulders.

It’s a shame, Louis thinks as the night goes on and they’re three rounds in, that they’ve never been out outside of work. He’s never seen Harry buzzed, never seen the way his charming smile turns into nothing more than a lazy curl of his lips yet still holds the same affect. His gangly limbs seem to move without permission, sprawling themselves over the nearest body it can cling onto.

Apparently, that’s everyone in the pub except for him. 

It’s not really an exaggeration, at least not to Louis, when he sees Harry go from one end of the bar to the other in a matter of seconds and somehow manages to strike up a conversation with everyone along the way. He shimmies his way into a dancing group in the corner of the bar, seamlessly blending into them as if he was already part of their group. Whenever he returns to their booth, he sits at the edge of the sofa, as if Louis will actually fucking burn him.

Louis begins to keep count of all the times Harry seems to avoid him, turning it into his own little game. He knocks back a swig of his pint every time Harry scoots further away from Louis or every time he needs to conveniently take a piss when the other boys flutter off and leave them alone. Louis doesn’t care, not _really_ , except he does just a little. He mainly keeps his game up just so he knows he isn’t going crazy or that it’s not all in his head. He briefly wonders if he did something to piss him off as he watches Harry brush arms with a skinny omega, her long dark waves cascading down her back. When he leans down to whisper in her ear, Louis decides he doesn’t care at all, consequently taking another gulp of his drink. 

Harry comes back to their table a couple minutes later, twenty two minutes to be exact, with blown out eyes and an alcohol-induced smile. He eyes the seating arrangement, which doesn’t leave him much of an option as the only empty seat is the one next to Louis, and then plops himself down in Niall’s lap. Louis grits his teeth and tips his head back, nearly finishing off his beer. The count reaches ten and his internal alarm sounds off as a warning for him to stop drinking.

Maybe what matters more is that Louis has no right to care who Harry rubs shoulders with, not while they’re still bridging the gap of their friendship. It’s a little childish, a bit premature, and maybe even a slightly pathetic if Louis thinks about it too much. He finishes off the rest of his drink because fuck his internal alarm. That’s what alcohol is for, really—stopping him from thinking at the worst of times.

He can’t help but feel justified when he feels a tinge of annoyance, though. Louis wants to hear about Harry’s movies and see the way his eyes light up as he talks about it, the same way they would when Harry would tell him about all the things he wanted to do once he made it on a real set with his determined eyes and his too-wide smile.

“Oi, get off,” Niall huffs with a half-hearted shove. “You weigh as much as a pregnant elephant. Go sit with Louis, I’m gonna talk to that bird over there.”

Harry pouts at him, his bottom lip jutting out with no effect as Niall pushes him off and heads over to another table.

Zayn tugs on the sleeve of Liam’s shirt and cocks his head towards the front door. “I need to have a fag.”

Liam blinks. “I don’t smoke.”

As desperate as Louis is to be anywhere except next to Harry, he slightly narrows his eyes at Liam. “You gonna leave an omega alone outside a pub?”

Liam splutters for a second before nodding to himself and Zayn smiles as they make their way out of the booth. Now that Louis and Harry are left alone, he senses Harry stiffen beside him. Louis doesn’t have anymore of his drink to add up his points, so he saves himself the mercy by taking himself out of the equation. 

“Going to the bar,” he mutters, slipping past Harry and taking up the first empty seat he finds.

Harry’s scent seems to follow him like a shadow because despite sitting close to another alpha, Louis only smells Harry. He can’t help himself when his eyes fall on Harry, standing at their table for another few seconds until he trudges over to the same omega from before. He flashes a smile and sits beside her like that’s his rightful place.

Someone nudges him in the shoulder and Louis peels his eyes away from Harry fixing the fallen strap of her dress. He turns his head to see an alpha, clean cut sandy blonde hair held in place with a little too much hairspray and a curious smile.

“Need another round?” He asks, eyes falling to Louis’ empty hands.

Louis cocks his head at him, spinning in the barstool to fully face him. “Why’d you say that?” His speech blurs together, sounding more like a jumbled mess of a word instead of a coherent sentence.

The alpha furrows his dark eyebrows. “Say what?”

“Need,” Louis replies, raising his eyebrows as if to say _what else?_

Leaning back against the wooden counter, the alpha swings from side to side in the barstool as he thoughtfully looks up. His shirt clings to him, white fabric stretching over his skin so tightly that even under the shitty pub lighting, Louis can practically count his abs. 

“If I was trying to shag you, I would’ve asked if you _wanted_ a drink,” He glances at Louis and quickly continues when he sees the frown hinting at the corner of his lips. “Not that I _don’t_ want to shag you. You’re gorgeous. I just thought…” He trails off and shrugs his shoulders. “You look like you don’t want to be here, but kind of have to. So the best way to be somewhere else when you’re stuck is—” He lifts his own pint up and shakes it, the beer sloshing around inside the glass.

That’s another thing about alcohol—it makes Louis a little too loose that even a stranger can easily read his face. He’s lucky that Liam and Zayn are outside and Niall’s chatting up a bird or they’d call him out just like this alpha. It’s true that he’d rather be at home curled up on his sofa in front of the telly, but he’d also rather be in that booth with his mates. He almost laughs at the turn of events, sitting alone while he watches his friends chat up other people. It’s not their fault and Louis knows that they’ll assemble together like the fucking Avengers later in the night, but he just really needs some more alcohol because he is feeling horribly stuck.

“Right,” Louis clears his dry throat and manages a smile to the alpha, who peers back at him patiently. “You’re right. I do need another round. Carlsberg, please.”

The alpha returns his smile almost sympathetically and hollers for the bartender. Louis feels the urge to throw up at the thought of getting something out of pity, instead keeping his eyes on the muscles of the alphas back flexing underneath his shirt as he leans on the counter to tell the bartender their order. The bartender’s quick to return with their drinks, barely giving them a window to fit in a short conversation, and the alpha raises his pint to Louis.

“Cheers…?” Lois silently asks, quipping a questioning eyebrow.

“Charlie.”

Louis gives him a single, firm nod of his head. “Well, I’m Louis. Cheers to us, Charlie.”

They clink their pints together and tip their heads back to take a sip of their drinks. Wiping his wet lips with the back of his hand, Louis smiles up at Charlie and swivels in his stool to fully face the bar, ignoring Harry’s eyes on him.

*****

Thirty minutes, a polite conversation and half full pints later, Charlie smiles through a yawn. He’s nice enough, easy to hold a conversation with and easy on the eyes. That’s pretty much it, though. Easy enough. His brown eyes are easy enough to hold throughout their _quite a crowd tonight, huh?_ kind of conversation. Charlie’s smile is sweet and soft, the kind someone would have when they’re meeting someone’s parents for the first time and not chatting up someone in a pub. It’s enough.

After exchanging numbers, he’s nice enough to walk Louis back to his booth where everyone is gathered and when Harry sees him, his eyes light up. Grabbing Louis’ wrist, he yanks him down to the booth and circles his arms around his shoulders tightly.

“Lou!” Harry shouts, breath dripping with so much alcohol that Louis scrunches his nose. “You’ve been gone for so long.”

Charlie stands there awkwardly but pastes on a smile anyway. “Well I’ve got to get going,” Charlie gives a small wave to the table. “Good night, lads.”

The boys return his wave and raise their pints, but Harry just pulls Louis in closer. “Goodbye!” Harry cries, his big hand flopping around in a poor semblance of a wave, nearly slapping Louis in the face.

“Goodnight, Lou,” Charlie smiles and pauses like he wants to say something else. Instead he gives a final nod of his head and turns to leave.

“ _See you never, alligator!_ ” Harry exclaims, leaning over Louis with his hand hanging outside the booth.

Louis pushes him off with a grunt, but his arm stays slung around his shoulder. “Christ, how much did you drink?”

“Not zzsso much,” Harry slurs with a quirk of his obscene wet red lips. His eyes are shot, hair sticking up in every which way like he just woke up from a long nap. His arm is heavy against him the way limbs are when you’re just waking up and taking the time to fully function again. Seeing Harry drunk is like seeing a baby full of energy only to suddenly be overcome with exhaustion.

“Think it’s time to call it a night,” Liam laughs as he looks at Harry’s half-open eyes.

Harry insists on staying close to Louis as they make their way out of the booth, clinging onto him as he stumbles over himself. Louis has to keep a tight grip around his waist as they make their way outside, Harry grunting and groaning in his ear every time his gangly body bumps into somebody else and Louis has to shout out an apology over their shoulders. Harry’s so warm that his sweat makes its way through his clothes and he makes for a nice human heater when they step outside, the cold air gently brushing their faces.

“I’ll see you lads later,” Niall salutes, pulling Zayn and Liam into a hug and climbing inside his taxi.

“Get home safe, okay?” Liam smiles softly as he watches Louis struggling to keep Harry upright.

Louis groans and pushes Harry up when he starts to tilt them to the side. “No worries,” He brushes off with one hand, turning it into a wave. “Night, lads.”

Once Liam and Zayn get in their taxi and drive off, Louis tries to pass him off to Niall, who’s patiently waiting for them in their taxi, but Harry drops his weight onto Louis in a poor attempt at a hug. His arms are too limp and heavy, loosely hanging around his waist as he slumps over to Louis’ height and hooks his chin over his shoulder.

“Will you get home safe?” Harry mumbles into his ear.

“I’ll be fine,” Louis rolls his eyes, patting his back. “Niall’s waiting, hurry up.”

Harry pulls back, his head swaying a bit as his hands slide up to grip his shoulder. “M’sorry,” he whispers with those obscene red lips of his.

Louis furrows his eyebrows. “For what?”

Taking in a deep inhale, Harry dramatically exhales and juts out his bottom lip. “Szaid I’d take care of you.”

He fights the urge to roll his eyes again, but even Louis has limits. He settles for brushing a tuft of hair clinging to sweat out of Harry’s eyes and watches Harry’s eyes flutter. 

“Shut the fuck up and go home,” Louis murmurs, his hand sliding down to cup the back of his neck and feeling the heat there. He gives his neck a light squeeze, thumb rubbing at the skin there. “I’ll see you next week.”

Harry quickly breaks out into a smile, his eyes crinkling and becoming something so _him_ , the way his dimples pop and his cheeks look like they’re about to burst. It’s lovely to see the different shades of Harry—the drunk Harry, the energetic Harry, the focused Harry—but Louis thinks he likes it best when Harry’s close and warm and open like this, his scent lingering with the type of crisp, fresh air that you only get when you’re stumbling out a crowded pub at two am.

They probably look like a cringe worthy screen cap from the cheesy romantic comedies that Harry loves so much, standing around under a streetlight in each other’s arms when there’s a loud _honk!_ that makes them both jump.

“Think a baby was born and breastfeeding in the time you twats are just standing there!” Niall yells out his window, cackling when Louis flips him off.

“Next week,” Harry drops his arms and starts to slowly walk backwards towards the car. “Get home safe, Lou.”

Louis watches him smile and trip over himself, fumbling around before he gains his balance. He ducks his head as he climbs into the car, Niall shaking his head at him while Harry laughs, shoving him in the shoulder. He walks away to catch his own taxi only once theirs pulls out of view, his fingertips tingling with the lingering heat from Harry.

*****

A week almost doesn’t seem like enough time, Louis thinks, as he lays spread out naked on the bed again. He went to a couple auditions, wrote a handful of new reviews, and even did his laundry. It’s been a productive week for him, almost too productive when it flies by and he’s alone with Harry again. It’s a new normal now, the anxiety and nerves that once filled his stomach all but evaporated.

At least it was until Harry decided to take a more proactive role in directing, occasionally stepping in to fix his fringe or push his knees against his chest to _get a better angle, I can’t see shit when you’ve got your legs together_. Louis’ probably drawn blood from biting his lip so much, his prick so hard from the vibrator he’s stuffed with in combination with Harry's touch that seems so fleeting and not enough at the same time. 

Harry barely moves this time around, instead hanging in the back with a camera in his hand to snap pictures whenever his mind seems to remind him to do so. Louis peers over at him at one point to make sure he’s even still there and whines high in his throat when he sees his hard cock pressing through the front of his trousers. Harry doesn’t even try to hide it, leaning back against the table to pronounce his bulge even more that Louis fucks the vibrator in deeply, his toes curling when it nudges his prostate.

When Louis’ hand starts to slow down, Louis hears Harry finally pad over to him. He barely has time to open his eyes when he feels Harry grip his waist and roll him over on his stomach. He pulls Louis up on his knees and presses a hand to the small of his back, getting him to push his arse out more.

“Need to change positions,” Harry grunts before he’s walking away again and Louis has to bite down a cry.

It’s excruciating to hold back from coming when he’s fucking himself frantically with the vibrator, Harry’s scent clouding him like a blanket. Louis could take a pill to keep him from coming too soon but there’s something that keeps him from taking it, like he wants it all to be natural.

Another couple minutes pass before Louis falls on his back again, spreading his legs wide with his hand quickly thrusting the toy in and out with a loud, wet noise from how slick he is. He feels like they’ve gone at this long enough, feels like it’s been a fucking year since they started shooting, and is about to just come when he hears Harry yelling cut. His hands stop on instinct even though all he wants to do is fuck it into him until he finally comes, but his hand drops against the bed as he takes in deep breaths. Sweat drips down his neck as he gingerly lowers his legs and whimpers when the vibrator moves inside him.

He peeks one eye open slowly, letting it adjust to the light before he opens the other one and leans up on his elbows. Harry’s standing just behind the camera in front of the bed, eyes dark with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, looking like some kind of serial killer with how intense his eyes are. He gives Louis a once over, his eyes trailing from his eyes, lips, hands, down to his feet until they meet his gaze again. His eyes drop back to the camera, flicking through the photos while Louis lays on his back, staring at the ceiling and waiting for Harry to give him a comment, a direction, _anything_ to cut the silence.

“S’good for you?” Harry finally asks casually like his dick isn’t one breath away from busting through his trousers.

Louis leans back up on his elbows, eyes quickly dropping to his cock because it’s _right there_ and then back up. “Did my slick everywhere give it away?”

A smile quickly spreads over Harry’s lips, eyes bright under the blinding lights. “Just making sure,” He sing-songs while shrugging his shoulders. “Had to do my directorial duties and emphasize your legs, you know?”

“Bella Hadid and I are both 5’9. Why is it that male models have to be fucking _giants_ and—“ Louis rambles until Harry cuts him off.

“You’re _5’9_?”

Louis fights back a groan. “Yes, I’m not an optical illusion.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He wants to bite back, wants to say _not everyone can have eyes the colour of a lily pad_ or _sorry I don’t have legs of a gazelle_ , but everything he comes up with makes him sound like he’s describing some sort of ethereal woodland creature, so he bites his lip and flops back down on the bed again.

“I never said anything about your height,” Harry mutters, mainly to himself. There’s a silence that blankets over them that Louis feels so heavily, the sound of their breathing suddenly louder than it was just a moment ago.

Louis scoffs and leans up to quirk an eyebrow. “So what, you just think I’m ugly then?”

Harry’s lips stretch over his face in a wide smile. “I think you’ve just about got the ugliest mug I’ve ever seen.”

Louis’ mouth drops open in surprise and Harry mocks him, dramatically opening his mouth paired with wide eyes. It’s seeing the humour behind his eyes that makes Louis laugh. “Well lucky for you, you get to take pictures and record this ugly mug all day.”

“Horrible,” Harry shakes his head and groans. “I have to be here with you all day? Alone? While you’re _naked_? Might just run to Timón and call it quits now.”

“Yeah, while you’re at it take care of that hard on you’re sporting,” Louis nods towards the fat outline of his cock through his trousers. “I wonder what ugly mug you’ve been thinking about to get you that hard, mate.”

Harry takes a step closer to him, eyes focused with a hint of his smile from earlier still on his lips. He blindly snaps a picture of Louis, doesn’t even look if he’s got a good angle, could’ve taken a picture of the bed sheets for all they know. Louis wants to chide him for the hell of it, wants to show him that he can finish what Harry started, but his voice gets caught in his throat as Harry makes his way closer until he’s at the edge of the bed.

“Think about the ugliest face you’ve ever seen with the fattest fucking arse,” Harry takes another picture, the flash nearly blinding Louis, but Harry seems to neither notice nor care as his eyes rake over Louis’ body again. “That’s who I’ve been thinking about.”

Louis bites his lip and instinctively closes his legs even though they both can smell his slick. It’s almost pathetic how wet he is, making a mess of the sheets. He somehow gets even harder just hearing Harry talk alone, just by having Harry this close to him.

He swallows the dry lump in his throat and coughs. “Harry—” Louis whispers and eyes Harry’s cock again because he’s too weak to keep fighting himself. “Are you gonna fuck me or just stand there, staring at me?”

Harry’s eyes are glued to where the toy is still nestled inside Louis, lingering there until he has to drag his eyes away to meet Louis’. “Is that toy not enough for you?”

He’s so close to Louis that it’d be impossible not to be so wet that the sheets are nearly soaked. Harry’s arms are hanging by his side and he stretches his finger every now and then like he can’t keep them still, like he wants to grab something and Louis instinctively inches down the mattress until he’s close to the edge.

“Mate, don’t act like your prick isn’t so hard that it’s not two seconds away from bursting through your trousers,” Louis’ eyes drop back down to his bulge again and once it’s there, well, he can’t _not_ stare at it. It’s so obvious, tenting obscenely through Harry’s loose black trousers.

Harry licks his lips and his eyes are back on his bum, so shameless and unapologetic that Louis’ not even sure if he knows what he’s doing at this point. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“I’m not stroking your ego even more,” Louis regrettably drags his eyes away from his cock and back up to his eyes even though Harry doesn’t return his gaze.

“You can either stroke my ego,” Harry reaches down to squeeze his bulge, “or stroke my cock that you’ve been staring at ever since we got in here.”

Louis can’t help the buck of his hips and then the whine that escapes when the vibrator hits him just right. “Ugh, maybe you should’ve been in front of the camera. You’ve got the cheesy lines for it.”

Harry starts to rub himself hard like he can’t go back after fighting not to touch himself just a few seconds before. He’s so unabashed about it, pressing the heel of his palm onto his cock and biting his lip so hard it turns white. “Yeah, maybe then we could’ve fucked already.”

“Or you could fuck me now,” Louis wastes no time rolling onto his stomach hoping that Harry isn’t as far gone as he seems to get in him, to touch him, to do _anything_. He’s about to get on his hands and knees when he doesn’t hear anything behind him because maybe he’s the one that’s far gone, but he hears the rustling of clothes hitting the floor. Suddenly, Harry’s on him, warm skin enveloping him everywhere—there’s not a single inch of skin that Louis doesn’t feel Harry and that’s enough to get him to grip the sheets so hard that they snap out of their hold from the mattress.

Harry grips the base of the toy, fucking it in and out and Louis squeezes his eyes shut, chest panting so heavily he feels himself pushing against the bed. He pushes back against the toy instead, curling his toes when it hits his prostate and sends a jolt up his spine. Louis’ so wet that the toy makes a squelching sound every time Harry screws it in, both of them groaning in unison, Louis digging his heated face into the bed. Harry speeds up his hand, holding Louis open with the other. It’s too much of not enough—getting fucked with an alpha vibrator _by_ an alpha whose cock is right there, so close Louis can feel the heat of him. 

“Harry, _please_ —“ Louis cuts himself off, clawing at the sheets when Harry roughly thrusts the vibrator in. 

“Do you need more prep?” Harry cages him in with his arms, nosing and licking along his neck, leaving a trail of spit behind him.

Louis scoffs. “You _literally_ watched me prep myself. With three fingers. I’ve got a vibrator in me right now. Do you really—ah— _ah_ ,” Louis hisses when Harry turns the vibrator up another notch. He cranes his neck back to glare at Harry. “ _Fucker_.”

Harry laughs against his shoulder, warm breath and wet lips tickling the side of his neck. He gives the toy one final thrust before slowly drawing it out with an obscene sucking noise. He doesn’t waste any time as he grinds against Louis, his cock sliding between his slick arse cheeks. Louis lets out an unabashed whine, pushing back even further against him. Harry grunts, hands trailing up Louis’ sides until he reaches his chest and thumbs over his nipples. His cockhead nudges against his rim and that’s when Louis finally opens his eyes.

Louis manages to push himself onto his elbows, arching his back only to try to get on his knees. Harry groans at that, rutting harder against him. He’s so close to where Louis needs him, heat coiling in the pit of his stomach.

“ _Fuck_ , yeah,” Harry grunts and lifts his weight off him. Louis nearly cries at the loss of his warmth, but Harry’s hands gripping his waist to help him lift his pelvis off the mattress stops the cry building in Louis’ throat. He presses a hand on his lower back to get Louis to arch his back more and squeezes his arse cheeks so hard Louis feels Harry’s nails digging into his skin.

Louis peers over his shoulder, eyes falling on Harry’s wide and long tattooed torso glistening with sweat. He’s all soft skin stretched over hard muscle, something that was once pudge Louis used to tease him about. His hair has a mind of its own, falling all over in front of his face as it moves with every grind of Harry’s hips.

His eyes trail further down and that’s when he sees it for the first time, sees what he’s been feeling, sees what he’s been eyeing since Harry stepped into the room.

“Jesus, Haz,” Louis breathes out with a gruff voice. Harry takes that as a good sign, grinding so hard that Louis has to dig his elbows into the mattress to keep himself from falling. “Think you’ve got a third leg where your cock should be.”

He can’t take his eyes off his cock, angry red with precome glistening at the head, knot swelling at the base and just— _huge_. His stomach tightens at the thought of taking him, at the thought of _if_ he can take him. Louis’ taken a lot and never batted an eyelash. But that was once upon a time, back when he was getting fucked multiple times a day and now—well, now Louis gulps nervously at the thought of Harry splitting him open.

Harry stills his hips and Louis fights the urge to arch his back at a painful angle, just to get him going again. His cock sits between his arse cheeks, so hot and hard that Louis can’t help but clench down. A soft laugh escapes Harry’s lips as he finally tilts his head up so their eyes meet, a smug smile stretched over his bitten lips. When Harry pulls back, his cock slipping away and slapping up against his stomach, Louis nearly cries.

“I asked if you needed more prep,” Harry reaches down to stroke himself. Even with Harry’s huge hand, it does nothing to make his cock look less intimidating. It does nothing to make Louis want it less, want it inside him a fucking hour ago, want it _now, now, now._

“That was before I knew—” _you had a massive cock_ , “—you were actually going to fuck me.”

Harry reaches to tug at his balls and Louis bucks his hips at having to be this close to Harry and just watch him play with himself. Harry sees it, his smile turning into a wide, shit-eating grin as his thumb circles the wet head. He pulls Louis open with one hand, running the precum-covered thumb of his other hand over Louis’ slick hole. Harry feels Louis clench down and he laughs, squeezing at his hips before pulling away again.

“You thought I’d pass on an opportunity to fuck you?” Harry mutters, eyes on his arse for another second before they glance up to his again.

“The opportunity is about to pass on _you_ if you don’t fucking—” Louis rambles, fingers tightening on the sheets.

There’s heavy weight on him again, covering him all over and Louis falls into the mattress, grinding his hips down to get some friction on his aching cock. Harry aimlessly kisses wherever he can reach: his neck, his cheek, the corner of his eye. His lips leave wet stains in their trail and Louis can only tell it’s not sweat by the lingering heat of his kisses. Harry straightens up, his hands finding the globes of Louis’ arse, giving them a hard squeeze before his thumbs draw circles in the slick glistening between his cheeks. His fingers are rough, the callouses pricking into Louis’ skin, but he can’t find it in himself to care when Harry spreads him open and runs his fingers over his hole.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Harry whispers so quietly, almost to himself. He presses the tip of his finger to his rim until it gives and Louis immediately clenches around it, pressing back until he’s knuckle-deep. He hisses at the sudden cold from the smooth metal of Harry’s ring and draws himself up, then back down because he can’t make his mind up of where he wants to go. 

Harry decides for him, slipping his finger out and suddenly he’s got three fingers curled in him, feeling around out of curiosity rather than prep. Harry takes his time, like he’s familiarizing himself with Louis’ body, his fingers slowly working in and out. Whenever Louis whines and tightens around Harry’s finger, Harry gives a hoarse grunt, fucking his fingers in deep. Harry’s other hand slides across his sweaty skin until it meets his hip, clawing it tightly, nails digging into the flesh. Harry pumps his fingers at a pace too slow for what Louis needs, fucking in and scissoring until he moans and draws out, repeating the motion again.

“Digging for gold?” Louis tries to peek over his shoulder, but the strain in his neck is too much so he just squishes his cheek into the mattress instead. "You won't find any so hurry up, Harry. Do all alphas have one speed setting or— _ah!_ ”

Louis doesn’t even need to look over at Harry to know he’s sporting a smug grin when his fingertip brushes his prostate. He pulls his fingers out only to jam back in, hitting his prostate with enough force that Louis jerks up on the bed, his leg kicking out. Harry chases after him, kneeing up until they’re pressed close again with his fingers still tucked inside of him.

“I like proving you wrong,” Harry muses, finally slipping his fingers out with an obscene wet noise. Jesus, Louis’ been fucked with a vibrator, his own fingers, Harry’s fingers and soon, his cock. The build up makes Louis’ head spin and he arches his back more, eagerly waiting in anticipation.

Harry groans and kneads at his arse, throwing his hand out to the side of the bed and ripping the drawer open. His hand scrambles inside, shoving things aside with determination in his eyes and a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Harry grunts and shifts his body so he can get a better look at the drawer, his hand still searching until he finally stops and gives up. “Are there no fucking condoms in here?!”

Louis blinks, letting Harry’s words jumble in his head until he can make sense of them because the only thing he can focus on is Harry’s cock back between his cheeks. Louis leans on an elbow and stretches his body so he can have a look in the drawer. Coins, hair ties, dildos, wipes, but no condoms. They could pop by the vending machine and buy themselves a snack, but they can’t fuck each other at a porn company because there’s just no condoms. None. Not even a ripped open packet. Not even a used one that was haphazardly thrown in to poorly hide the evidence of two people fucking that's clearly not Harry and Louis.

“Do these rooms not come with complimentary condoms?” Louis grits out, flopping on his back on the bed. “What kind of porn company is this?”

Harry leans over him, running his hand through his already disheveled hair. He scans the room with blown eyes like he’s hoping to find a discarded one hidden in the corner. “Let me just—I’ll go get one really quick.”

Louis looks at him like he’s just grown a second head. “Are you mad? You want to go out _there_ with your cock that hard?” Louis retorts, pointedly dropping his gaze to Harry’s prick, steadily leaking.

“We’re not exactly working on holy grounds,” Harry throws his hands out and lets them fall back to his sides.

“You’re still the director,” Louis argues. “What are people going to think when they see you and your hard dick looking for a bloody condom?”

Harry groans and reaches a hand down to stroke himself but pauses halfway, groans again and stretches out his fingers. He finds Louis’ thighs instead and squeezes, pushing them back towards his chest so that the stretch makes Louis roll his eyes back and bite back a groan.

“I’ll call Niall,” Harry says, peering down at him with an almost desperate, silent plea. “I’ll just tell him to leave it in front of the door.”

“Are you done with the bad ideas yet?” Louis tilts his head. “Niall isn’t a mailman that exclusively delivers condoms. Just—c’mon,” He pushes Harry away and shifts himself until he’s on his stomach again, getting back on his hands and knees. Escaping the intense gaze of Harry’s eyes is easier when he can’t actually see him. “I’m on birth control.”

There’s a second of silence as Louis hangs his head between his shoulders, the second stretching out to be what feels like a century while Louis’ prick steadily leaks and slick drenches his thighs. He’s about to give it all up, take that heating alpha vibrator and fuck himself into an orgasm when Harry squeezes his hips, drawing them upward. Harry presses his hands into the meat of his arse, thumb digging into his cheeks to spread him.

“Alright,” Harry pants, squeezing the meat of his arse and giving it a quick, stinging smack. “Okay, I’ll fuck you.”

Louis hears the wet slide of Harry’s hand over his length while his other hand grips Louis’ hip, his thumb drawing circles over his sweaty skin. He slaps his fat cockhead over Louis’ hole, an obscene noise resounding throughout the room from how slick Louis is, and nudges forward, gripping Louis’ hip so tightly that he’s sure it’ll leave a bruise. When he finally pops in the first ring of muscle, they both let out a loud groan. It fucking _hurts_ , Harry’s fucking colossal, stretching Louis so good with just the tip in that Louis claws at the sheets, drawing in deep breaths like he can’t get enough air in his lungs. 

Harry placates him by rubbing over his hip and digging his face into the crook of Louis’ neck. “Take me, Lou,” he mumbles into his sweat-slick skin, canting his hips forward so his cock slides in another inch. “You can take me if you just open up.”

Louis hides his whine into his forearm. “I _am_ open from the vibrator and your bloody monster fingers! You’re just—” _really fucking huge_ “—not trying hard enough.”

Harry takes his hand off his hip and places both hands on either side of his head, his chest ballooning against Louis’ back as he tenses his stomach muscle and drives forward with a rough grunt. He dicks in all in one go until his balls rest against Louis’ arse. 

Louis moans loudly, doesn’t care if it’s embarrassing at this point because there’s not a single muscle or nerve that Harry’s cock doesn’t hit just right. It’s just on the right side of painful, throbbing inside him in the way that Louis loves. He clenches down as an instinct, like once Harry’s there, Louis needs him to stay despite the pain. He loves it, loves the stretch and burn from being split wide open, almost feels like he’s being fucking branded from the inside—all from Harry’s dick. 

Harry isn’t moving though, and Louis has waited too long, his patience wearing thin. He starts to push back against him, encouraging him to move, but instead Harry’s rubbing at Louis’ sides like an apology.

“Do you need me to tell you how the next part works?” Louis noses at Harry’s wrist and nips at the skin there. “Once you get in, that’s usually when you move.”

Harry doesn’t even quip back, just draws his hips out and roughly slides back in, grunting loudly in his ear. He thrusts into him hard now that he’s taken Louis’ words as a green light, his balls smacking against his arse with every move of his hips. The sound of the mattress creaking and the headboard banging against the wall are only dull background noises to Harry’s rough moans and pants in his ear, their skin slapping as he jackrabbits his cock into him so hard that Louis feels the swell of his knot bumping into him with every grind.

“Yeah, yeah— _uh_ ,” Louis whimpers at a particularly hard thrust and tightens his hands into the sheets. “Just like— _oh_ , just like that.”

Louis’ getting loud, his cries threatening to reach an embarrassing level and he might just be putting the soundproof walls to a test, but he can’t bring himself to care with the hard drive of Harry’s hips. He lets out small whimpers when Harry fucks in, circles his hips and then thrusts back out. 

_This_ is what he’s missed—being fucked so good that his reality narrows down to the hard cock fucking him deeply. Every shag he’s had since leaving the company were quick and down to business. They were nothing like this, nothing like Harry’s cock so big and deep inside him that there isn’t a single nerve that it doesn’t touch. His eyes flutter close and soft, high-pitched whimpers slip past his lips every time Harry’s hips snap forward into him.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, pumping into him so hard that Louis collapses onto his elbows, the side of his face smushed into the mattress. “So tight around me, you feel so good, Lou.”

Harry licks along his shoulder up until behind his ear and nips at his earlobe, his rough breathing warming up the side of Louis’ sweaty face. He hasn’t been fucked this hard in awhile, so filled up and warm under Harry’s broad chest that Louis reaches down to wrap a hand around his swinging cock with every thrust of Harry’s hips.

A hand quickly smacks against his own and tightly fists him around the base of his cock. “Don’t,” Harry loosens his fist just barely as he slows down the move of his hips, fading out into a lazy grind against Louis’ arse. “Last a little longer, yeah?”

Louis wants to cry at the thought of not coming within the next ten seconds. “No. Get your hand off and let me come, Haz.”

“Mm... no,” Harry whispers into his neck, drawing his hips back until he’s only got the tip in. His thumb spreads Louis’ arse open, sliding through the messy slick there. Louis buries his heated face into the sheets and Harry tightens his fist around his cock again like a warning.

“Then I’ll take the vibrator and fuck myself, you twat,” Louis hisses, despite pushing back on Harry’s cock, Harry pushing back against him with one hand on his bum. Louis’ heavily panting now, his vision gone a little blurry with how close he is. He arches his back, toes curling when Harry’s cock moves back into him. “Harry, _please_ ,” Louis murmurs, too close to care how desperate he sounds.

He doesn’t care at all, not when Harry makes a pained noise and fucks into him with a jarringly fast thrust, knocking him forward and tightening around him. Harry strokes him in time with his thrusts, his lips warm against his neck as he licks at the sweat there. All Louis can focus on is the hard drive of Harry’s cock, his moans choking up in his throat as he silently comes, shooting all over the sheets.

He’s still trying to recover, doesn’t even notice when Harry gives one final push of his hips, doesn’t notice until his knot pushes in and Louis suddenly bursts his eyes open like a bucket of ice cold water has been dumped on him.

“Harry, did you just—”

Harry grunts into his neck and wraps his arms around Louis' waist as he grinds forward, spilling another wave of cum There’s so much now, Louis can feel it seeping out, trickling down his already-wet thighs. It almost seems like a dream even though the hot pulse of Harry’s cock still inside him is very much real and Harry just _keeps coming_.

Louis reaches an arm back and slaps at whatever part of Harry his hand can reach. “ _Harry_ ,” Louis snaps, pinching at his waist.

Harry suddenly pulls away from his neck with a gasp and Louis wants to pull him back when the sudden cold makes him shiver. 

“Fuck, Lou,” Harry digs into his fingers into his waist and tries to pull his hips back like he’s never taken a biology class in his fucking life. His knot snags against Louis’ rim and Louis cries out, slapping at Harry’s thigh. “Jesus fuck, I can’t—“

“No shit, just—stop moving,” Louis sighs in resignation, wincing and instinctively clenching down when he feels more of his cum. Harry’s dick jumps and they both groan again when even more seeps out. Louis can’t understand how there can possibly be _so much_ , he almost feels full to his stomach with it.

Louis lays there in a daze as his senses come back into focus. Now that he isn’t getting pounded into the mattress, the burn of his rim and arse is announcing itself. Harry stays quiet, thumbing at his hips like a silent apology. He doesn’t even feel Harry breathing and Louis sighs.

“You okay?” Harry mumbles so quietly he barely catches it. “Is this comfortable or—”

“S’fine,” Louis tries to sound normal, to sound reassuring even though he’s got so much slick, cum and sweat covered on him he’s practically drenched in it. He feels really disgusting, just a little uncomfortable. He feels like he wants to have Harry back on him just to have his warmth covering him instead of the cold breeze of the AC cooling over his sweaty back. Louis feels fulfilled in a way, protected and content in the foggy cloud of being fucked so well. “Can we just—try to lay down? I’m gonna bill Niall when I see a chiropractor.”

Harry laughs behind him and carefully shifts them around until they’re lying on their sides, Louis tucked under the weight of Harry’s arm slung over his stomach. His back, arm, arse and everywhere in between cry out in relief when he stretches his muscles out, Harry’s hand flying to his waist to still him, hiding a grunt in his neck when Louis jostles his cock in him.

“Should be a few more minutes,” Harry squeezes at his waist in what Louis takes as reassurance. “I’m sorry, I don’t know—“

“It’s fine,” Louis cuts him off and nuzzles into the pillow.

They lay there in silence as Harry’s dick spurts out cum and he rubs circles into Louis’ skin, lips warm where he’s got them pressed into his shoulder. He’s nearly dozing off when he feels Harry slowly pull out of him with a wet sound from all the cum and slick. Louis nearly scrambles back against him, immediately wants to pull him back in, but he comes to his senses and winces at the cum leaking out instead. 

Louis shuffles to a dry spot on the bed and smiles softly over at Harry, patting the spot beside him. “C’mere,” he says. Harry glances at him in surprise, sending him a questioning look. Louis just rolls his eyes. “You _just_ knotted me and pulled out and now you want to act shy? Hurry the fuck up, I’m cold.”

Harry laughs and crawls over to him, cuddling into his side and resting his head on Louis’ chest with an arm slung around his waist.

“Anyone ever told you that you sound like a bloody horse?” Louis sweeps his sweat-drenched fringe off his forehead with one hand and runs the fingers of his other hand through Harry’s wet curls.

“Can’t say that they have,” Harry replies, flicking Louis’ nipple and getting a bum smack in return. Harry yelps, hips jumping from the sting and pressing into Louis’ side. He lets out an airy laugh, his warmth tickling Louis’ skin, (and if Louis can’t help but relax into the feeling, so what?) “Not surprised, though.” 

Louis shifts to quip a questioning eyebrow down at him, tugging on a curl in lieu of asking him to continue. 

Harry just tilts his head up to grin at him and peers down at himself, wiggling his hips where his soft, slick-soaked cock jostles around. “Got the cock of one.”

Louis groans, slapping a hand to Harry’s face and pushing him off as Harry cackles out a full laugh. Harry bites at Louis’ finger, circling his hand around Louis’ dainty wrist to pry his hand off, his lips briefly gliding against his palm before he rests it back on his own stomach. The soft whirring of the AC mingles with their breathing in what would seem to be the perfect soundtrack to a good kip. Harry’s weight against him gets heavy, the sign of his body getting lax and falling asleep. Louis could close his eyes and drift off too, if only they weren’t laying in soaked sheets and Louis wasn’t full of Harry’s cum.

“Christ, that was a mistake,” Louis grimaces as he feels more cum trickle out his arse.

They move in that same moment—Louis wiggling his arse so cum doesn’t seep out so much and Harry sitting up and climbing off the bed. Louis almost doesn’t say anything, under the assumption he’s getting a rag or wipe, until Harry starts pulling on his clothes so quickly that he nearly falls over when he pulls on his trousers. His hair keeps falling over into his eyes and he roughly brushes it back twice before giving up completely, letting it hang over his eyes.

“Hey, where are you going?” Louis asks, sitting up and watching Harry tug his shirt over his head with his back to him. Harry doesn’t say anything, just scans the floor for his socks with his bottom lip pinched between his fingers. “Harry.”

“Fuck,” Harry rubs his hand over his face and glances at Louis. “I just—don’t feel well.”

“You don’t feel well.”

“Mmhm.”

Louis cocks his head to the side, fingers playing with the blanket. “And this happened suddenly?”

Harry finds his sock underneath the bed and he rushes to pull it on, scrubbing his nose with the back of his hand once he straightens up again. “Yeah, s’just an upset stomach,” he explains.

“Was I that bad of a shag that I made you feel ill?” Louis attempts at a light-hearted joke, a smile ghosting his lips.

Harry presses his lips together in a tight line as he steadies himself on the doorknob with one hand and tugs on his shoes with the other. “I gotta go,” he says, eyes flicking to Louis again. “Are you okay?”

Uncomfortable, yes. Confused, maybe. “Yeah,” Louis nods, bending his knees and wrapping an arm around his legs. “I mean, I’ve got what feels like five gallons of your cum inside me, but—”

Harry makes a pained noise and tightens his fist on the door knob. “I really do have to go, but,” he swallows and gnaws on his lip. “You’re good?”

With Harry asking twice, standing at the door like he can’t wait to leave, like being here with Louis a second longer is something awful, makes Louis feel like he isn’t okay. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he says instead.

Harry lingers by the door, eyes on Louis’ legs for another second. Louis wonders what he sees in that second, but then Harry’s giving him a silent nod and opening the door. He slips through it quickly, letting it shut behind him and.

Hm.

*****

“Bug bite?”

Louis glances over at Niall with a questioning eyebrow. He mirrors Louis’ expression with a quip of his own eyebrow, his lips pressed together in a tight line paired with drying sauce graciously splattered on the corner of his lips. Liam’s too busy twirling his own spaghetti around his fork like it’s an art form, getting a perfect amount around it before he stuffs it in his mouth.

“What?” Louis shifts in his seat to fully face them.

Liam points to Louis with his fork, spaghetti noodles falling onto his plate. “You keep scratching at your neck.”

The fingers on his neck instinctively pause and Louis can feel the heat of his skin radiating underneath his fingertips. He pulls his hand away, letting it fall down in his lap, but that only starts his leg bouncing in place. Slapping a hand down on his knee to stop himself, Louis sits there for a fraction of a second before the sudden stillness of his body gets him itchy with the urge to move, so he stands up in a haste with his hands on his hips.

“I’m just—” Louis cuts himself off before giving them a proper sentence, his hand reaching up to absently scratch at his neck again. “It’s been nearly a week. How sick can he be?”

Liam and Niall’s eyes follow him as he paces up and down the room, his socks padding thunderously across the wooden floors with each heavy step he takes. Niall watches him brightly, blue eyes shining with a gleam of amusement with that permanent smile of his stretched across his face, while Liam eyes him curiously with a little bit too much intent for Louis’ liking. They’re a dangerous cocktail to mix; one who knows practically everything and one who takes you by surprise by what they know.

“He’s not indestructible,” Niall shrugs, spearing a meatball with vigor and waving it around. “Maybe something bad got to him.”

The thing about Niall knowing everything is that by default, you can tell when he’s lying. He always knows _something_.

“What exactly did he tell you?” Louis asks, careful to not sound too desperate or pleading, although his neck-scratching probably gave that away. He’s just—concerned. “You know everything, right?”

Niall dabs at the corner of his mouth with the etiquette of a princess, only to let out a disgusting burp. He laughs giddily at Louis’ and Liam’s synched eye rolls and sits back in the armchair. “He told me he’s not feeling well and he can’t do the shoot yet. I haven’t heard from him since.”

Louis sighs heavily, scratching at his arm now. It’s just not enough. Not enough explanation, not enough sense, not enough Harry. If he answered his messages, maybe it’d help Louis feel a little better. Just some sign of life to be the balm to soothe Louis’ nerves. He pulls his phone out of his pocket even though it hasn’t vibrated in the past hour, chewing on his thumbnail as he goes to his conversation thread with Harry. He’s met only with his own unanswered text messages from five days ago, stuffing his phone back in his pocket with a huff. Louis almost wishes Harry changed his number again. That way, he’d at least have the satisfaction of getting some sort of answer instead of this fucking radio silence.

It’s fine. Harry clearly doesn’t care and Louis isn’t going to lose sleep over it. 

“Everything alright?” Liam finally asks after a beat of silence.

He stops pacing and stares at them from his place across the coffee table, mentally weighing the pros and cons. “Alright, well…” Louis racks his brain for a place to start. “Funny thing happened, lads. You know me and Harry—”

“Sure do, Lou Lou,” Niall chimes in.

“Know you in ways I’d rather not,” Liam adds, eliciting a bark of laughter from Niall. Dangerous cocktail, these two.

Louis rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath. “We, um…” Louis paces around again and coughs to clear his throat like he can physically feel his words getting lodged in there.

Niall’s fork clinks against the glass plate as he sets it down and snaps his fingers at him. “Oi, out with it, Lou. Save the choking for the bedroom.”

“We kind of slept together.”

He spares a glance at them, drawing his eyes from the floor to their faces. They stare blankly at him, hunched forward in their seats with their plates of spaghetti sitting in front of them as they wait for him to continue, as if he hadn’t just spilled the punchline already. Louis isn’t sure what he was expecting, but two blank and awaiting faces wasn’t one of them.

Something must click for them because they both move in the same moment, their faces breaking out into faux surprise with wide eyes and their mouths open agape. It’s a little disgusting seeing the chewed up spaghetti remnants in Niall’s mouth. It’s a little funny seeing how childish Liam looks with orange-red spaghetti sauce stained lips. It’s a little sad seeing poor Lucy looking up at them with her puppy eyes and wagging tail, waiting patiently for some food.

More than anything, it’s a lot confusing as to why they have to _act_ surprised.

“You guys _slept_ together?” Niall asks, exaggerated shock colouring his words. He grabs Liam’s forearm like he needs to steady himself from the news. Not even a fucking cheesy soap opera would hire him with his acting skills.

Louis plops down on the floor in front of the coffee table, pulling his own plate closer to him and shoving his food around. “Alright, sod off. Why aren’t you guys more surprised?”

“You guys ‘kind of’ slept together?” Liam asks instead of answering his question. “Define ‘kind of.’ Like he got the tip in and ran off scared, wanking in the toilets instead?”

Niall cackles himself into a coughing fit, banging on his chest with a closed fist and going red in the face from either laughing or nearly choking, Louis can’t tell. He steadies himself and takes a swig of his beer. “You got something to share with the class, Liam?”

Liam huffs out a laugh and flicks him off, turning to Louis again. “Well?” He presses.

“We shagged, had a bit of a cuddle and then he left all sudden and said he was sick,” Louis shrugs.

“Okay…” Liam and Niall slowly say in perfect unison. Their eyes meet too quickly for Louis to read anything into it before Liam adds, “Maybe he was sick?”

Louis groans, rubbing the back of his neck frustratingly. He could tell them they knotted—it’s a large piece he’s left out after all. It’s not exactly a secret, but Louis can’t seem to bring himself to say it, not when he isn’t sure what Harry’s feeling. It seems best to convince himself to not say anything about it at all, just to be on the safe side. Like if Harry’s apparently acting like he doesn’t exist, then Louis can act like they didn’t knot.

“Alright,” Louis sighs in defeat, although his hand reaches up to scratch his neck again. “Yeah, alright. I was just overreacting, I guess.”

Niall smiles brightly, picking up his fork and stuffing in a mouthful of spaghetti, painting his lips red. “You should’ve told me. I would’ve brought you guys condoms,” Niall grumbles, mouth smacking around the food. “Free expedited shipping, just for you horny lads.”

*****

**niall - harry told me he can come back to work on wed. he asked if thts good w u???**

Louis scoffs at his phone screen, reading it again before tossing his phone beside him on the bed only to grab it again. He opens up his messages with Harry and just seeing the unanswered messages is enough to send his thumbs flying over the keyboard.

**louis - you upgraded niall from delivering condoms to msgs?**

**louis - if you care about what i have to say, then you can ask me yourself**

**louis - or just answer my other bloody msgs**

Louis even contemplates sending back a loving _fuck you too <3_ except he’s too proud to have more unanswered messages on top of the week-long silence. He lies back against the pillows, his finger tapping the side of his phone while he waits anxiously to see if Harry’s typing back to him. 

He doesn’t.

Now Louis definitely knows something is wrong if Harry’s texting Niall and not him. Harry’s actually texting Louis _through_ Niall after he fucking knotted and ignored him and that’s just—a little insulting, at the very least. The irritation festers inside him the longer he stares at their one-sided conversation so he throws his phone to the side.

So Louis does the best thing to do when he’s met with frustration mixed with irritation—distract himself. He can’t bother to care anymore.

He dives into whatever he can get his hands on—writing reviews, replying to his agent’s emails about potential roles, and giving his family a much-needed phone call. Louis even digs out his dusty cleaning supplies and breaks a sweat wiping down every corner of his flat, shoving his hand into the crevices of the sofa to fish out loose change or crisps, Louis’ hands fly over every surface and object that they can reach for deep cleaning, careful to only avoid his phone.

In the small moments of quiet where he’s walking from one end of the room to another, Louis’ aching curiosity starts to creep in and he finds himself gravitating closer to his phone. It’d be so easy just to reach out and turn his phone up to check for any missed calls or messages. There’s an itch that seems to grow worse despite thundering around his flat with vigorous steps and the only thing that’ll seem to make it go away is a simple _ok_ text from Harry.

Eventually, his mind gradually begins to calm down like it’s managed to exhaust itself, too tired to hold any thoughts at all. Louis’ in the kitchen with his sweats rolled up to his knees so he can scrub the floor clean from buildup of spilled wine, leaking rubbish bags, and Lucy’s dirtied paws. He bruises his knees from how hard he washes the floors, a phantom reminder of the hard drive of Harry’s hips slamming into him. The memory suddenly becomes clear that it nearly becomes tangible; Harry’s fingers digging bruises into Louis’ skin, his wet lips panting against his damp neck, their tangled limbs after Harry fucking _knotted_ him.

Louis’ head starts to spin from the flood of images and he quickly stands up, the bubbly water dripping from his hands onto the floor. It all suddenly seems so far away that it feels like some sort of fever dream, something he’s made up inside his head. His hips don’t hold the bruises anymore, not even a faint colour to show that Harry's hands claimed their place there. Louis might’ve made Harry up too because that seems like a better reason his phone hasn’t made a sound in the past couple of hours.

By the time Louis’ done with every possible distraction he could think of, it’s not even time for dinner. With all that he’s accomplished, Louis still doesn’t feel like he’s ready to be done. His eyes desperately search his flat for something to do as he paces around, his hands itching with something to do. That’s the shitty thing about distractions—great in the moment, only to be just as bad when it’s over.

It wasn’t entirely useless, though. His distractions led to productivity, at the very least. As he rummages through take-away menus for possible dinner options, Louis finds himself caring a little bit less, whether that’s because he’s starving, exhausted, or apathetic, he can’t tell. If Harry was talking to him, Louis would send him a picture of his spotless flat. If Harry was talking to him, Louis would ask him _Indian or Chinese?_ If only Harry would—

Maybe Louis just needs to stop overthinking. Maybe Harry really was just sick. 

The last thing Louis does is pull out his phone to send Harry one last text, just to get the final word in, even though he's had the final word in for the past twelve messages. It feels like a necessary final nail in the coffin when he sends it with no expectations this time.

**louis - ill be there on wed**

*********

“Morning, Louis,” Nancy chirps brightly. Her long, curled hair swaying as she shuffles around her desk, settling things in their rightful places when she deems that they’re not at the exact angle they’re supposed to be. A concerned expression spreads across her face ,a wrinkle between her eyebrows and a rare frown pulls at her lips when she glances at Louis. “Everything okay? I didn’t see you last week.”

Louis trudges up to her and flops his forearms onto her desk with a pout. “I don’t wanna be here,” he announces with a dramatic sigh, peering around the bustling room.

People hastily walk across the floor, making their way to the elevators, the cafeteria, or wherever else they need to be on a Wednesday morning. Liam and Zayn chatter as they head for the cafeteria, waving happily to Louis as they pass by. Even seeing Timón stroll in with a coffee cup in hand, talking with other employees as they wait for the elevator oddly helps to quell the knot in Louis’ stomach. The familiarity of the morning settles Louis a little, enough for him to believe that if it weren’t for a crushing weight pressing on his chest, today would be just like any other day.

He knows Harry’s already here since he saw his car, so Louis hangs around Nancy, hearing about the ridiculous resumes she’s had to read through and the homeless man who stumbled in and offered a dick picture in exchange for water. The mixture of her soothing and dramatic voice storytelling what he’s missed out on helps to take Louis’ mind off Harry and manages to kill some time. Watching Nancy wildy gesticulate with her round, brown eyes as she tells him how she spilled hot coffee over her skirt yesterday, Louis can’t help but be comforted.

Louis heaves out a sigh and quirks his lips in a smile. “Jesus, one hell of a week for you,” he replies, drumming his fingers on her spotless desk.

“Did that kill enough time for you?” Nancy asks, laughing when Louis looks at her with confusion. She leans forward, hand cupping around her mouth like she’s got a secret. “Whatever you’re avoiding, can’t be as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

“Am I that easy to read?” Louis frowns.

Nancy shakes her head lightly, collapsing down in her chair and swivels from side to side. “No, but put the pieces together and it’s not so hard to figure out something’s going on,” she shrugs. “You’ve been gone for a week and you’re been the quietest I’ve ever seen you.”

“Maybe your storytelling skills are just that captivating,” Louis replies, propping his chin on his hand. “Got any more for me?”

“Time to get marching, soldier,” Nancy shoots him an encouraging smile and a salute.

Louis scowls at her before heading to the elevators, dread building inside him the higher he goes up to their floor. Facing Harry is one thing, but not knowing what comes after is another, which apparently is a big problem for Louis. He doesn’t know where they stand now, whether that’s friends, coworkers, or nothing at all. Having to blindly walk around in the dark and try to make sense of Harry's silence churns Louis’ stomach and makes him want to turn back around to drive home.

As soon as Louis steps off the elevator, Harry’s scent practically permeates through the walls and funnels right into his nose. Scrubbing his hands over his face roughly, Louis takes a few deep breaths to steady himself, leaning back against the wall across the room they’re filming in.

Louis takes a deep breath to steel himself and bites the bullet, opening the door and walking into the room filled with everything Harry. If Harry notices him, he doesn’t let it show. He’s setting up the lighting equipment, his arms over his head, a sliver of skin peeking from his raised brown sweater. Louis’ never had a problem breaking any silence before, preferring some sort of noise over awkward stillness, but he’s frozen in place. 

Louis finally pulls himself together to slip his clothes off, throwing them into the corner of the room. Standing starkers in the middle of the room, Harry doesn’t spare a glance in his direction. It’s a little impressive, maybe even a little offensive, that Harry doesn’t seem to react to Louis’ presence at all. Not a stumble, not the bat of an eyelash, not even a fucking flared nostril.

Rolling his eyes to himself, Louis climbs onto the bed and lies on his back. There’s an odd charge to the air, Louis lying naked while Harry’s fully dressed with no spoken words between them. Harry carries on about his work, even though Louis can tell that he’s just doing it to avoid talking. Standing at the foot of the bed, Harry stares at the wire he’s holding, absentmindedly twirling it between his fingers and frustration builds up in the pit of Louis’ stomach.

“What?” Louis asks loudly as if Harry isn’t close enough that his scent is already making him dizzy. Harry’s pretending to fuck around with his camera now, pressing random buttons and clicking through pictures. He’s too proud to be ignored again, but the fact that Harry’s probably looking at pictures of him, _naked_ pictures of him, makes Louis harshly nudge Harry’s thigh with his foot. “ _What?_ What is it? You’ve evidently got something on your mind, so say it.”

“Nothing, it’s—nothing,” Harry mutters. He drops the act, looking up at Louis only to shift his gaze to the bottom of the bed. Bottom lip tucked between his teeth, he stares for a second longer and then lets out a humourless laugh. “I just, you know, think it’s funny that you think it’s a mistake fucking me, but fucking other alphas is alright with you.”

Louis blinks. “What?”

Harry finally looks down at him properly, his eyes tired and frustrated, his lips red from him gnawing at them. “You think I can’t smell him on you? Lou, you fucking _stink_. I—I could smell you from two blocks down. I can fucking smell him, the other alpha that’s been up your—”

If Louis wasn’t so busy being affected just from hearing Harry’s voice again, he would laugh at Harry smelling Liam. “No, not that,” Louis quickly interjects, shuffling around the bed until he’s sitting up. “What do you mean, a mistake?”

“You said that,” Harry replies, sounding a little bit tired. A little bit pained. “After we fucked, you said that it was a mistake and then you come in here smelling like some other fucking alpha—“

“I meant _knotting_ me was a mistake, not fucking me,” Louis says experastedly. “Jesus, is that why you’ve been acting all weird? You thought I thought us fucking was a mistake?”

“Well, that’s _literally_ what you said,” Harry says, but there’s relief in his eyes now. His shoulders are noticeably less stiff and he’s inched closer, his knees touching the foot of the bed. Louis tries to subtly shift higher up on the bed because Harry’s scent is drowning him, making it hard to think.

It’s a little funny, Louis thinks, that Harry felt so entitled that he threw his little silent temper tantrum all because of a little petty miscommunication. It’s even funnier that Harry has no right to in the first place.

“Yeah, well—I don’t,”—Louis coughs—“think us fucking was a mistake.”

Harry nearly drops the camera, but fumbles forward and catches it. Louis mutters an ‘ _idiot’_ under his breath, but Harry smiles and pinches his thigh. He wants to kick him again because now he’s leaning so close so that Louis could be in a fucking hazmat suit and still smell nothing but his scent.

“Really?” Harry breathes. His eyes are wide, green, and too, too close.

Louis actually kicks him in the stomach this time and Harry staggers backwards, only to crawl up the bed with a sudden determined look in his eyes, kneeling in between his thighs.

“Christ, you’re not proposing to me,” Louis mutters and he hates the way he feels his lips curving into a smile all because Harry’s still smiling down at him like a man possessed. “I just—you know. It’d be a bit stupid of us to be in this room by ourselves with all these bloody toys and not take advantage, right?”

“Right,” Harry echoes, nodding absently because he’s still smiling at Louis like he actually did propose. “Right, yeah and we’re, like, we’re not stupid.”

Louis is so wet that his thighs are practially drenched in his own slick and he nearly whines when Harry grips both of his thighs, fingers tightening when he smells it, too. “So, we might as well make use of the,” Louis’ eyes drop down to his cock, fat and hard in his trousers, “equipment.”

There’s a second of silence and he’s so desperate, so wet and hard that Louis’ hands are about to fly to Harry’s trousers and pull them down when Harry laughs loudly. Louis stiffens and furrows his eyebrows when he looks up at Harry, who’s slapped a hand over his mouth. Not even his huge hand can hide that he’s still smiling, his stomach muscles clenching from trying to not laugh.

“Sorry,” Harry says around his stupid, shit-eating grin. “That just—it just reminded me of a couple years ago when I’d watch you on set say lines like that. It made me feel like I was on set with you, like a proper porn star.”

Well.

Louis brings his leg back to kick him again, ready to kick him so fucking hard that he flies off the mattress and hopefully gets a bruise because now Louis just feels stupid for even saying anything. He feels like he’s twenty again, ready and wet to get fucked but not in the way that it actually matters. Louis feels like he can’t fuck someone without it feeling like a job. He feels a bit pathetic, really.

Harry’s quick to catch his leg, probably anticipating it after already getting kicked twice, and smiles down at him. He presses a kiss to Louis’ ankle, lips warm and wet. “Don’t kick me again,” Harry murmurs against his skin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

Louis wiggles his leg out of his grip and Harry pouts. “No, fuck off, you’ve ruined it,” Louis grunts, even with his slick practically dripping down his thighs. He shifts around Harry to get off the bed, ignoring Harry’s eyes following his every move. “I’ll just go to a different set and see if they need another omega to fuck, yeah? I think Niall told me Liam’s filming today, so—you know, might as well. Fucking wet already, aren’t I? He can just slip right in, fuck me—”

He’s about to open the door when he suddenly gets shoved up against it, letting out a _oomph_ as his cheek collides with the door. Harry’s pressed up tightly behind him, big and warm, and grunts into his neck while his arms tighten around his waist. He noses along his neck, softly biting where his neck meets his shoulder and licking there. 

“If you even think about leaving this room,” Harry murmurs roughly in his ear, “then I’m going to handcuff you to the bed.”

Louis bites back a whimper and tries to elbow him, but that only makes him rub his arse against the hard line of Harry’s cock and they both moan. “Kinky,” Louis grunts, fighting to arch his back further.

Harry laughs into his neck. “I’ve seen you on your knees with four alphas coming all over you, don’t act holy.”

“I’m about to find four fucking alphas right now if you don’t get the fuck off of me,” Louis grits, clawing at Harry’s arm around his waist to pry it off, but Harry only grips him harder.

“Louuuis,” Harry whines in the spot right behind his ear, hot breath tickling that sensitive area. Louis tries to fight back a shiver that runs down his spine, which seems nearly impossible when they’re pressed so close like this. “That’s who you are to me.”

Craning his neck to the other side with a puzzled look, Louis nudges at the side of Harry’s face to get him to lift his head off his shoulder until their eyes meet. When Harry finally does, his eyes are so wide and earnest, the way they’d always get when he was trying to prove himself. He looks young up close like this with the tips of their noses brushing, Louis’ eyes nearly crossing as he studies his face.

“The fuck are you on about, Harry?” Louis mutters, careful to not move his lips too much. He feels like if one of them inches forward, they’d close that gap between their lips that’s starting to feel magnetic. When Louis tries to pull his head back, Harry instinctively leans in closer like being in Louis’ orbit is his rightful place.

The corner of Harry’s lips tug into a smile and he pulls Louis back against him. The closeness and warmth would be nice, even comforting, if it weren’t for Harry’s hard cock pressing itself against Louis’ arse. Louis’ eyes flutter shut as he tips his head back on Harry’s shoulder and falls lax in his arms, earning a satisfied groan from Harry.

“I’m just saying,” Harry replies in a hoarse whisper, “you’re just Louis to me.”

Louis manages to ignore Harry’s thick girth to scoff and roll his eyes at the same time. “Last time I checked my birth certificate, that was my name.”

Harry bites down on the junction of his shoulder and then licks at it as if to soothe the bite. “I mean—you’re not Lou Lou or anything, even though I love him, too,” Harry presses a smile into Louis’ skin. “Got myself off to him an embarrassing amount.”

“Yeah?” Louis breathes out, working his hips back against Harry’s to feel his cock against him. He hasn’t heard his old porn name in a while, except that one-off time from Niall, except now it sounds a lot more matronly coming from him than it does hearing it fall from Harry’s lips. 

“Mhm,” Harry hums. He starts to work his hips in slow, meaningful thrusts now that Louis’ pliant. The slow grind of Harry’s hips drives Louis’ against the door where his own leaking cock rubs uncomfortably against the wood, making him push back until Harry can hardly rut against him anymore. Somehow Harry understands him because he takes a few steps back, keeping Louis tight against him, until Louis’ bows his head with a hand pressed flat against the door. The new angle has Louis arching his back, making it easier for Harry to grind his clothed dick against Louis’ slicked arsecheeks. “Loved the ones where you just fucked yourself on your own fingers, desperate for something more.”

A soft mewl falls from Louis’ lips, his fingers curling against the door so his nails scrape against the wood. “If you take forever like you did last time, I’m going to fuck myself with my own fingers now,” Louis grumbles.

Tightening his fingers on Louis’ sweaty hips, Harry hooks his chin over his shoulder again and nips at his earlobe. “But do you know what I mean, Lou?”

It’s a struggle to find his footing back into reality to grasp at what Harry means when Louis just wants to fall apart right now, but Louis turns his face to Harry once again. Knocking their foreheads together, Louis smiles. “If I say yes, will that get you to fuck me faster?”

“Yes,” Harry automatically responds. He suddenly halts his hips and Louis immediately pushes back against him to get him to move again, his slick probably fucking up Harry’s trousers. “So hurry up, Lou.”

Fighting back and going against what Harry says is almost like second nature to Louis, but desperation drives him to give in easily. Heat coils at the pit of his stomach and his toes curl, eager with want for Harry to move again, to feel him and his cock grind against him.

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis hisses, his head thudding back against the door. His arm falls down to his waist where Harry’s arm is still locked around and Louis’ hand falls over his. “I know what you mean.”

Harry lets out a satisfied low groan and digs his fingernails into the flesh of Louis’ hips. “So, against the door or bed?”

Without knowing what else to do, Louis laughs, airy and full. His lips nearly threaten to split at the corners from how wide he smiles, his cheekbones hurt from it. Louis doesn’t exactly know why, but he feels light all of a sudden. He thinks that if it weren’t for Harry holding him, Louis’ knees would buckle under him. Louis’ head spins from the sudden rush of euphoria that he can’t quite place and it spins even more when he realises Harry’s laughing with him. He feels his laughter more than anything; his warm breath tickling the side of Louis’ damp neck, his stomach muscles moving along with his deep chuckle, his arms tightening around Louis. 

Their laughter mingled together sends Louis even deeper into his head rush, overwhelming him enough that he tips his head back on Harry’s shoulder again. They’re still laughing senselessly when Harry nudges Louis’ cheek with his nose, their breaths fanning over each other’s faces. Louis just lets his eyes fall to Harry’s lips, pink and stretched in a grin. Harry must take that as some sort of invitation because he surges forward to press their lips together with a force that knocks Louis’ head back.

Louis doesn’t know why they hadn’t thought to kiss the first time they fucked, but he regrets it now. Harry kisses like he’s got something to prove, fast and domineering that Louis has to make an effort to keep up with. Harry’s tongue makes up the softness of the kiss as it dips between Louis’ mouth, gently laving over his bottom lip and leaving it glistening with spit when they break apart to catch their breaths. In the time it takes Louis to blink, Harry’s on him again with a bruising kiss and a hungry sound in the back of his throat.

They kiss long enough for Louis’ neck to start straining from the angle and he has to reluctantly pull away, a string of spit connecting their mouths. Harry’s eyes are dark where they stare at Louis’ swollen lips, both of their chests heaving.

Louis gets it, is the thing. He gets Harry’s seemingly empty answer from the way he can’t stop smiling just from hearing how different his name sounds when it comes from Harry. It seems to take on a new shape, some sort of new meaning that Louis hasn’t felt in awhile. Maybe it’s too soon, but Louis wants to get used to it, wants to see how many times he can pull his own name from Harry’s lips, just to see the different shades it has when he says it.

It seems dangerous, wanting his name to make a home in Harry’s mouth, but Louis’ can’t bring himself to care when he’s got Harry’s lips on him.

“Um, lads?” A voice mutters, causing Harry and Louis to whip their heads towards the bathroom door. It’s cracked open and Zayn’s head peeks out. “Is it safe to come out now or can I leave before you two actually shag?”

*****

After Zayn scampers out, they fuck against the door, Louis’ cheek smushed against the wood as Harry rams into him over and over until Louis spurts streaks of white cum all over the door. Sated and dazed, Louis barely registers Harry pulling out to drag him to the bed to fuck him into another orgasm. 

They don’t get to shooting that day, too fucked out to even stand on their legs.

The next few weeks follow in the same suit until their weekly shootings suddenly aren’t enough that it turns into twice a week, which then turns into _three_ times a week. Louis could even do more, like his libido’s newly fresh and fully charged. He finds himself painfully unsatisfied after fucking himself with a new toy he’s reviewing now that he knows how good it can get, how _good_ Harry can be.

“Out of all bloody days, you choose _today_ to wear the tightest fucking trousers,” Louis bites, digging his fingers into the belt loops of Harry’s skin-tight black jeans and giving them an unsuccessful tug.

Harry snorts out a laugh and dips his thumbs into the waistband, shimmying them down his legs. “I didn’t know I was gonna fuck you today,” he replies with a satisfied smirk when he gets his jeans around his thighs. Louis rolls his eyes because, really, there hasn’t been a day where Harry _isn’t_ fucking Louis, but Harry reaches down and cups the side of his face, gently thumbing over his bottom lip. “I thought we might actually get some work done.”

They probably should get some shooting done—they might be behind a little schedule now that most of their time together is spent with Harry’s dick inside Louis. He doesn’t really regret it and would even risk running dangerously behind schedule if it weren’t for Timón possibly getting in the way. Staring at Harry’s hard cock pressing tightly against the cotton of his pants, Louis nips at his thumb and pulls his trousers down to his ankles with one swift tug. 

“When don’t I have your cock in me when we’re in the same room for more than thirty seconds now?” Louis asks, reaching up to rub him through the fabric, preening at finally feeling him in his hand after craving it all morning.

And for the past two days since he last saw Harry.

“Don’t have my cock in you right now,” Harry grunts through gritted teeth, hissing when Louis leans forward to lick at the precum leaking out of Harry’s cockhead.

They always go at it like they’re on some sort of time limit, an unspoken fear permeating the sex-fueled air that someone may knock on the door while Harry’s balls deep inside Louis when they should be filming. It’s a bit rushed, Harry’s pants usually pooled around his ankles as he thrusts inside Louis. It’s a little intimate, their early shoots full of morning sleepiness that’s still evident from the way Harry leans his entire body weight onto Louis like he hasn’t fully gained control of his limbs quite yet and his hips are nothing more than a lazy roll against Louis’ bum.

Louis shoots Harry a glare and presses a flat hand against his stomach, pushing him to fall back on the bed. He knees in closer until he’s between Harry’s spread legs, Louis’ hands running up the length of his bare thighs. Licking his lips, he leans down to press a kiss to Harry’s cock, hot and throbbing against his lips. Harry’s hips jerk and Louis’ hands fly to hold him down.

“You’re not gonna have your cock anywhere near me if you keep talking shit,” Louis murmurs, dipping his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s pants to yank them off. His prick springs out, angry red and bobbing free against his stomach. Harry lifts his pelvis off the mattress so Louis can pull his pants down to join his trousers that now sit around his ankles. “Or if you wear trousers two sizes too small.”

“They’re not small, that’s— _ah_ ,” Harry breaks off in a hiss when Louis takes his cock into his mouth, lips tight around him. He groans loudly, his neck veins bulging when Louis digs his tongue messily into the leaking slit. “That’s the fucking style.”

Louis’ mouth waters just from having Harry in his mouth again, taking him down further and pulling back with a satisfied hum when Harry’s cock glistens from spit. He flicks his eyes up at Harry where his head is thrown back against the mattress, his sharp jawline emphasized from this angle that Louis loves so much. They bicker and argue nearly every time they’re together but seeing Harry come undone just from Louis’ mouth on him has heat curling in the pit of Louis’ stomach. 

He brings his hand to wrap around what he can’t fit around his mouth, slicking up even more when he sees that his fingers can’t fully wrap around around the size of Harry’s cock. That’s something that Louis will never get tired of—the constant reminder that Harry’s an alpha, in every sense of the word. After weeks of spending time drowning in his scent, _fighting_ his scent, Louis loves having Harry under his hands, feeling hard muscle under soft skin. His knot at the base of his dick makes slick dribble out his hole every time Louis gags himself and his nose brushes it, like it's desperate to be filled. Harry’s cock throbs in his hand and Louis tightens his grip to get Harry to look down at him. When their eyes meet, Louis makes sure that he sees him roll his eyes before he pops off his cock, a line of spit connecting the tip of Harry’s cock to Louis’ lips.

Licking his lips to break the string, Louis gives Harry’s thick girth a stroke. “Your style fucking sucks if it takes me nearly five minutes just to pull them down your legs,” he says, ducking his head to lick away the blurt of precum that leaks out the cockhead, voice shot and rough.

Before Harry has a chance to answer, both of their phones buzz where they lie forgotten in Harry’s trouser pockets and the table where Louis tossed it once he got in the room. The table’s too far away, so Louis huffs and reaches down to shove his hand into the pockets of Harry’s trousers. 

He clicks the screen on and barely has time to see ‘Niall’ followed by someone else’s name when Harry sits up with a grunt, pulling the phone away from Louis' hand as he grumbles out an impatient, “Who s’it?” Harry squints down at his phone with a furrow between his eyebrows and then groans, running a frustrated hand down his face.

“What?” Louis thumbs at the inside of Harry’s thighs. He shifts from knee to knee, the ache settling in now that he isn’t occupied with having Harry’s dick down his throat.

Harry just shoves his phone in Louis’ face. The brightness nearly blinds him and Louis pulls his face back until he can read _break room in 10!!!_

It’s a surprise Niall hasn’t interrupted them before this since they’ve started sleeping with each other. He once caught them walking out after what was _supposed_ to be a shooting, but quickly turned into Harry pounding into Louis doggy style on the floor. The easy thing about fucking at work is Louis’ flushed cheeks and tangled hair could be passed off as a part of filming. Louis tried to get Harry to put more effort into cleaning himself up so he doesn’t look like he just fucked Louis within an inch of his life, but Harry just replied _I don’t look very different when I’m watching you fuck yourself_ , so Louis let it be.

Louis pulls the phone out of Harry’s grip and lets it fall to the floor with a clutter. He straightens his back and leans in to press his lips against Harry’s chest, nosing into the dip between his pecs. “Ten minutes,” he whispers against the cotton of Harry’s shirt.

“You want to—“ Harry begins and cuts off with a strangled groan, steadying himself with an arm on the bed when Louis takes Harry’s cock down until the head brushes the back of his throat. Harry fists Louis’ hair so tight that tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. “ _Fuck_ , Lou.”

Bobbing his head a couple more times just to feel the weight of Harry’s hard prick in his mouth, Louis tongues at the veiny underside and pulls off with a loud slurp. “You have ten minutes,” Louis repeats, slowly stroking Harry’s cock as he smiles up at Harry. “If you don’t come, you can blame your fucking style.”

Harry breaks out in a hoarse groan, flexing his hand before reaching down to cup the side of Louis’ face. His thumb runs across Louis’ bottom lip, red and swollen from the stretch of Harry’s thick girth. “You sure?”

His green eyes search Louis’ face as they stare down at him. Half of Louis wants to roll his eyes, but the other half of him feels the swoop in his lower stomach every time Harry looks for assurance in the lines of his face. His omega can’t help but preen at this extra step of care and all Louis can do is lean up to press a chaste kiss to Harry’s lips.

“C’mon,” Louis quickens his strokes, feeling himself slick up at the wet slapping noises of his hand working Harry’s cock, “want you to fuck my mouth. Let’s see if you can get us off in nine minutes, hm?”

Harry must pick up on the challenge in Louis’ voice because he falls back on the bed and tightens his fingers in Louis’ hair, pushing him down on his prick with a loud moan. Louis wastes no time as he opens his mouth wide, his hands trailing to rest on Harry’s thighs. With his free hand, Harry grips himself, smacks his cock on Louis’ tongue and feeds it into Louis’ mouth, hissing loudly as soon as he gets the tip in. Louis tightens his lips around him like he doesn’t want Harry to ever leave.

And he doesn’t, not when Harry grunts and drives his hips into the warmth of Louis’ mouth and both of them groan loudly. Drool starts to seep out the corner of Louis’ lips immediately, dripping down Harry’s cock. Louis stays still and lets Harry use him, ignoring the pain when Harry fists his hair too hard or when his cockhead fucks in too deep. The only thing that buoys Louis to reality is Harry’s throbbing cock working in and out of his mouth.

Opening his eyes, Louis peers up the length of Harry’s torso, glistening with sweat. With his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, he looks like he’s in heaven and seeing Harry like this gets Louis off. Fisting his own leaking cock, Louis moans around Harry’s thick girth.

“ _Ah_ ,” Harry hisses when Louis tongues at the slit. “Jesus, your mouth, Lou. So perfect— _shit_. Made to take this cock.”

Louis doesn’t know if he’s already too fucked out or if he might be imagining it when Harry heavily emphasizes _this_ , but it makes Louis whine, drool already dripping down his chin. Harry pushes Louis’ head down further to drive home his comment, groaning loudly when Louis splutters around him and gags. 

“Fuck,” Harry groans and yanks Louis back and off his prick by the hair. He coos when Louis fights against his hold, tongue falling out his mouth as he chases Harry’s cock with desperate mewls. “Love you like this,” Harry takes hold of his dick with his other hand, tracing the wet cockhead along Louis’ swollen, stretched lips and smothering them with precum. “Love how desperate you get, just from having my cock.”

Louis doesn’t have it in himself to argue and he feels himself nod, eyes pinned to his cock. “Want it—please,” he murmurs, tongue flicking out to taste the bitter cum.

Harry pushes down on his head and Louis swallows him down with a satisfied moan, eyes rolling back at having his shaft in his mouth again. He faintly hears the squeak of the mattress and Harry’s frantic groans, and all Louis can do is sit there and take it.

“Always— _ah_ —always so good for me,” Harry grunts above him as he cants his hips into the tight, warm heat of Louis' mouth. “Such a good omega, letting me fuck your mouth even though we only have ten minutes, you’re just so desperate.”

Louis can’t even bring himself to let out a whimper, already slipping into that heady space whenever he’s with Harry like this, eager to please and taking whatever he gives him. There’s spit dripping out the sides of Louis’ mouth and down Harry’s cock as he pistons his hips, working at a brutal pace, from desperation or time Louis can’t bring himself to care. Louis runs a hand between his wet thighs, gathering the slick onto his hand. He brings it up to wrap around Harry’s throbbing dick to add to the mess of drool and precum there. 

Harry yanks Louis’ head back, grunting when Louis fights against the pull to get Harry’s cock back in his mouth. His thumb slides across Louis’ plump bottom lip, a satisfied smile hinting at his own bitten red lips. “You’re making a mess, babe. You like that, don’t you?” His smile spreads across his face when he sees Louis dumbly nod, pushing Louis down again. “Not much time left, make us come.”

When Harry makes demands like this, Louis can’t fight the urge to please that spreads throughout him. He gets Harry’s cock back into his mouth, a pleased mewl falling out his lips, and he wraps a hand around his own angry-red dick. Harry’s made sex a million times better and, consequently, making Louis wank himself off that much worse when he now knows what it feels like to have Harry’s long fingers working him. Harry picks up the thrust of his hips again, cursing when Louis’ tongue prods against the sensitive underside of his cockhead. Tears threaten to brim over for Louis when he squeezes his own sensitive dick at the same time Harry cants his hips, driving his cock further down Louis’ throat.

Peeking his eyes open, Louis can tell Harry’s about to come soon by the strain in his stomach muscles, the shake in his thighs, his mouth dropped wide open as curses and groans spill out. Louis tightens his mouth around his girth, letting drool drip down as Harry chases the slick warmth of Louis. Harry grunts and tightens his fingers in Louis’ hair so hard he’s scared Harry might just rip it out his fucking scalp. Harry pushes his head down as he comes into his mouth with a loud groan. The sting from Harry’s pull mixed with his throbbing cock shooting off in long, hot spurts is enough to tip Louis over the edge, coming all over the wooden floors.

Harry pulls Louis off, hissing when Louis kitten licks at the sensitive head and cracking into a goofy smile when Louis giggles hoarsely up at him, tear-stained cheeks and red swollen lips. “You have me thinking I should start my own review blog about you,” Harry mutters, wiping his thumb across Louis’ cheekbone. “I’ll write shit like ‘ _Ten minute face fuck is appropriately scored ten out of ten. Mouth that leaves you wanting at least another five minutes._ ’”

Standing up with a groan, Louis rubs his aching knees. “ _At least_ another five minutes? I feel like a flesh light with legs. You nearly fucked your entire cock down my throat and into my stomach and just about ripped a fistful of my hair out. I think that deserves a better review.”

Harry barks out a laugh, face flushed with colour as he pulls Louis on top of him and flops them back onto the mattress. He nips at Louis’ jaw, chin, cheek until he finally catches his mouth, dipping his tongue in and humming in satisfaction. They pull away with a click of their lips and Harry tightens his hold around Louis’ waist, keeping them impossibly close.

“We should go, might be running a bit late,” Harry smacks his arse with a shit-eating smirk and fails to dodge Louis’ quick fingers twisting his nipple.

They get dressed quickly, cleaning the mess of cum streaked across the floor, fumbling over each other to get their hair looking somewhat normal. Harry forces Louis to drink an entire water bottle on their walk to the breakroom, shooting a glare at him whenever he stops because he’s not a fucking camel. Louis throws him the occasional eye roll, feigning nonchalance so he doesn’t let on just how much he loves being fussed over. Getting attention is nice, especially when it comes from someone you actually care about because then you want to return it tenfold.

When Louis finishes the water, he smacks away Harry’s hand when he goes to pat his head and mutters _good boy_ , only to tangle their fingers together—he’s found that Harry likes that kind of attention, the kind that’s loud but only between the two of them.

*****

“Alright, lads. This,”—Niall slams a clear plastic bottle filled with something white onto the table—“is our new shampoo.”

Louis can appreciate Niall’s directness, his ability to get straight to the point instead of opting for theatrics like he does. He’s quick and direct, doesn’t particularly like wasting anyone’s time purely for his own sake because he’s always jumping from one end of the building to the other. Niall’s trustworthy like that because as quick and swift as he is, he’s also hardworking, and with Niall knowing everything, he sometimes expects others to be on the same page as him. 

They sit in silence, Niall beaming at them from across the table while Louis and Harry stare at the mysterious bottle with a mixture of curiosity and confusion written over their faces. The bottle looks harmless, the white substance looking suspiciously like cum and Louis really wouldn’t put it past Niall to pull some filthy shit like that for his own entertainment. But Niall isn’t for theatrics like Louis is, wouldn’t call them together for some pseudo-meeting in the break room to show off his bottle of cum, leaving Louis scratching his head.

“You’re gonna have to pitch it a little more than that,” Louis picks up the bottle and opens it, giving it a whiff but smelling nothing. He turns to Harry to let him have a sniff, but he just shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head.

“It’s body wash to help wash off cum easily,” Niall explains happily, leaning across the table to grab the bottle from Louis’ hands. “It doesn’t smell like anything, Lou. It’s a tester.”

Louis tries, he _really_ tries, but a laugh falls out anyway. “Is your cum made of superglue? It’s not that hard to wash off.”

“Mm, I dunno,” Harry muses, his head on his hand whilst his other hand drums against the table. He looks to the side at Louis, a dimple making its way onto his cheek as he grins lazily. “Dried cum can be a bitch. Niall, if you make it smell like watermelon sugar then I’d buy this.”

“Haz, you’d buy used toilet paper from a homeless man,” Louis flicks a lint off Harry’s shoulder, letting his hand linger there. “And what the fuck is watermelon sugar? Are you high?”

Niall groans, tapping the bottle against Louis’ forearm. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,”—he smirks, his gaze dropping for a second—“Looks like you could give it a try right now.”

“Excuse me?”

“You guys just shagged, didn’t you?”

Louis sputters and Harry laughs loudly, his hands smacking over his mouth and eyes gleaming with amusement. “How’d you know? It’s been ten fucking minutes,” Louis asks incredulously.

“We work at a porn company, Lou. Post-sex isn’t exactly a new look around here,”—Niall taps the corner of his lip with his finger—“but the dried come on your lips is a bit of a giveaway, mate.”

Touching the corner of his lips, Louis turns to Harry for help but he’s met with his schoolboy smile, dimples carved into his cheek like a proud badge of honor. He opens his mouth, tongue hanging out and runs his thumb over it before reaching over and dragging his wet thumb over Louis’ skin, wiping away the dried cum.

"You let me walk around with your cum on my lips?" Louis asks. 

“What?” Harry grins at Louis’ scowl, big hand cupping the side of his face. “S’cute look on you.”

“Your crusty, dried cum on my face is a cute look?” Louis slaps Harry’s hand off, if only because he doesn’t want him to feel the heat rushing to his face.

Harry gives a little pout and reaches over to tug on the hem of Louis’ shirt. “Well, I mean…” he gives a huff of his nose and a stupid, boyish grin, “Yeah.”

“How about next time I let you blow your load over my face and then I’ll look fucking gorgeous?”

“Really?” Harry’s eyes go wide and bright, brows raising, and circles Louis’ wrist. “Alright Niall, we gotta—”

Niall groans, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus, do you guys get off every time you’re at work?”

Louis wiggles his hand out of Harry’s grip and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, kicking Harry under the table when he laughs. “It’s convenient,” he says. “You stuff us in a room with sex toys, what did you expect?”

“For you twats to do your fucking jobs,” Niall laughs lightly, leaning back in his chair. He glances down at the bottle in his hands. “Here,” he tosses it to Harry, who swiftly catches it. “If you guys are gonna fuck at work, might as well make yourselves useful. Let me know if the thing actually works.”

Niall drums the table with his finger and with a final smile, he quickly leaves. It’s always been amazing, Louis thinks, how direct and quick Niall can be about everything. Louis’ figured that it must have something to do with the perks of how Niall knows just about everything and, as a result, can just float through shit without worrying. Louis wonders when the day will come where Niall won’t know something, wonders just how damaging that will be.

When he turns to look at Harry, he’s got his head down with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, rolling the bottle between his hands. His hair looks how it always does after they’ve fucked—wild and messy, a loose curl flopping in front of his face. Louis reaches over and tucks the curl back in place, giving it a light tug to get Harry to look up at him. When he does, there’s a deep, almost frustrated, frown between his brows.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks, his hand falling to rest on his knee.

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing,” he smiles with those full, red lips of his but it doesn’t touch his eyes.

“Are you mad because you didn’t come over my face?” Louis arches an eyebrow and gives Harry’s knee a squeeze.

Harry gives a breathy laugh. “S’all I can think about now,” his eyes flick to Louis’ lips and it’s almost embarrassing at this point how quick he can get Louis to slick up.

“C’mon, let’s get back to filming,” Louis nods and stands up, eyes flicking down at the bottle in Harry’s hands. “And then after we can test the shampoo out.”

The smile on Harry’s lips spreads across his face and he shoots up from his seat, only to bang his knee against the table and crouch over as he hisses in pain. Louis just shakes his head lightly and laughs, slowly walking backwards towards the door. “If you just fucked your knee up, I’ll ride you,” Louis turns to open the door and throws Harry a glance over his shoulder, biting back another laugh when he sees Harry pouting and rubbing his knee. “And I’ll let you come on my face.”

Their laughs echo throughout the hallway as Harry chases Louis back to their room as best as he can with his knee. Harry fucks him so hard against the window that Louis forgets why he was frowning before, why something seemed off, and why maybe Louis should’ve been a little more concerned.

*****

Sundays are usually reserved for doing absolutely nothing.

Not like Louis’ life is the most structured thing around, but he likes to pretend he has some semblance of it. He tries to dedicate Sundays for lounging around, feet kicked up on the coffee table with his stomach full of artery-clogging food and some shit alcohol from the corner shop down the road because he can’t be too arsed to go to an actual supermarket. Sometimes, he’ll even turn his phone off just to fend off the urge to check for audition emails or to avoid some company contacting him, asking him to stuff yet another toy up his arse.

So far, he’s been pretty good at keeping his Sundays free—until now.

Harry rings him five times at seven-thirty in the morning and Louis only really picks up out of the slim chance that it’s some kind of emergency because knowing Harry he probably tripped on a pebble and smashed his fucking head into the pavement, except it’s just him asking Louis to get breakfast.

There are worse things to do than seeing Harry on a Sunday, but Louis’ gotten too comfortable with his free day. He doesn’t really feel like getting up, doesn’t feel like working, and—who’s he kidding, his arse could use a break. Aside from all that, they still haven’t gone out with just the two of them, even if it is just grabbing a quick bite or coffee, and it’s not something Louis’ thought about until the question stares him right in the face. Louis blurted out a quick _yes_ so Harry wouldn’t read anything into the silence and, just maybe, sense how nervous Louis was suddenly feeling.

When he gets to the cafe thirty minutes later, Harry’s already seated at a table by a window, waving that big hand of his to catch Louis’ attention. The cafe’s not too crowded, a clear sign that it’s too early, but there’s just enough people to fill the cafe with conversation mixed with the music over the speakers.

“Morning,” Louis says through a yawn once he sits down, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Harry watches him, sleepy-eyed and so soft that Louis’ tempted to sit right next to him, just like how they would always sit in that break room, and burrow himself against Harry’s chest. 

Sliding a menu across the table to him, Harry smiles over at him. “Morning, sunshine. Don’t look too happy to be here.”

Louis laughs. “You’re paying because you dragged me here.”

Harry opts for a silent answer, rolling his eyes with a lazy curl playing on his pink lips, looking down at the menu. Louis quickly finds out that Harry’s the type of person who has to look up pictures of the restaurant’s food, making sure it actually looks good before deciding on what he wants. He’s scrolling through picture after picture, showing each one to Louis and asking for his opinion with a little determined wrinkle between his eyebrows that’d be more cute if Louis wasn’t starving and tired. After a while, Harry finally decides and they flag down a waitress, who comes presenting both a pot of tea and coffee and some mugs. They put in their order and let a cloud of silence fall over them.

Harry plays with the rings on his fingers, twisting them around absentmindedly. The dull morning light peeks through the gray clouds blanketing the sky, streaming in through the windows. Somehow, Harry looks asleep and awake at the same time, evident from the way his face muscles look more relaxed and his shoulders curl in on themselves, yet his eyes are wide and young as they focus on his glimmering rings.

“Hey, Thanos,” Louis reaches his hand over and places it over Harry’s just to stop him from fucking with his rings. He keeps his hand there, just because he can. “Wanna tell me why you decided to eat with me before the sun’s fully out? You know I’m rarely up before ten.”

Raising his eyes to meet Louis’, Harry shoots him a lazy smile. “I know,” he affirms, running his thumb over Louis’ knuckles, “but you’re more likely to give in when you’re tired.”

Louis cocks an eyebrow and flicks Harry’s hand before pulling it away, replacing Harry’s warmth with his cup of tea. It’s not the same, not even close and Louis wants to be closer than just holding hands, but he keeps his hand firm around the ceramic cup. “You don’t know me at all, then,” he replies, taking a sip of his tea, “or you’d know that I prefer sleep over anything else.”

“Well, you're here anyway, aren’t you?”

Locking his gaze with Harry’s eyes, twinkling brightly despite the sleepiness that lingers there, Louis rolls his eyes. He barely sees a smile pushing against Harry’s lips as he turns to face the window to take in the scenery. Louis was never one for people gazing, too energetic for his body to stay in one place for too long, but he can appreciate it now in the peaceful morning when life hasn’t seemed to be getting in the way of people’s days yet.

He glances back at Harry, whose eyes are already on him. They’ve spent mornings together, so morning Harry isn’t a complete stranger to Louis, but he somehow seems new under the fluorescent light of the cafe with the morning light washing over him on the side. There’s something about the way Harry wears softness like he does the beanie perched on the top of his head, tufts of his unruly brown waves peeking out on either sides of his face. He must’ve shaved this morning because his skin that was peppered with stubble just the day before isn’t there anymore, making him look like that by in the break room again. Louis loves this—piecing together what he missed out on, imagining what Harry looks like _right_ when he wakes up from a full night’s sleep and not just a kip at work.

Their waitress returns with their food and barely sets it down before Harry’s attacking his own plate of French toast, practically inhaling the forkful.

“I’m here thanks to you,” Louis relaxes back in the chair, biting back a smile when Harry digs his fork into Louis’ benedict and rips off a piece, “you gonna keep stealing my food whenever we’re together, you dick?”

Harry just shrugs unapologetically, popping the forkful into his mouth with playful eyes. “Would it kill you to believe that I just wanted to have breakfast with you?”

And—that wouldn’t _kill_ Louis, but the violent swoop he feels in the pit of his stomach maybe feels something close to it. Harry has a way of passing off his pure honesty as casual declarations, as if he’s announcing the weather or reading off his grocery list. Maybe it is casual to Harry and Louis’ just making it into something it’s not.

“Why?”

“I guess, ehm, we spend a lot of time together. Not just…” he trails off, scratching at his chin, “Not just doing _that_ , but—it just made me think about all the things we don’t do together, all the things I want us to do. We have breakfast every day. You and I have never eaten breakfast together.”

Louis thinks maybe the milk in his tea was spoiled because his stomach’s doing somersaults like it’s the fucking Olympics. “I guess starting the morning with you and breakfast isn’t so bad,” he sighs dramatically, glancing down at his eggs benedict. “I can’t film after this though. I’ll be bloated to all hell.”

Harry shovels a forkful of French toast into his mouth, smiling with his chipmunk cheeks. “Didn’t say anything about filming after breakfast.”

“Not too busy hanging out with budding actors and actresses?” Louis asks, dragging his fork through the hollandaise sauce and licking it off, preening to himself when Harry’s eyes track the movement. Harry’s eyes stay on Louis’ lips for a beat too long that Louis consciously runs his tongue over his lips, licking off any potential sauce or egg remnant hanging there.

Harry makes a choked noise and stabs his French toast with more vigor then necessary. “Never too busy for you, Lou,” Harry flashes him a toothy smile and pops his breakfast into his awaiting mouth. Louis rolls his eyes, ignoring the swoop he feels in his lower belly. “Besides, you can count as one of my budding actors.”

A frown pulls at Louis’ lips, his fork going still in his hand. “What, because I was a porn actor?”

“No,” Harry shakes his head with a crinkle between his eyebrows. “No, because you’re a regular actor.”

Louis can’t help the scoff that falls out his lips as he lets the fork fall from his hand, clanking against the glass plate. “Harry, I haven’t had one fucking role.”

“You’ve been offered roles,” Harry counters firmly. “You just turn them down.”

“Because they all involve sex,” Louis adds, making a conscious effort to not raise his voice in the peaceful cafe.

Harry lets out a breathy laugh, spearing off a chunk of the French toast and swirling it in syrup. “So?” He asks and waves his fork in the air. “Just because they all have it, doesn’t mean that’s all they’re using you for.” Harry heaves out a deep sigh when Louis drops his chin to his chest to aimlessly tear off chunks of his breakfast with the fork. “Lou, do you think you became the most popular one at Full Control just because you were good at taking it?”

“Yes,” Louis instantly replies, an automatic response against his own record. He sags against his chair, adjusting his fringe before looking back at Harry. “I mean, why else would I be? Besides my good looks, of course.”

“Of course,” Harry smirks, letting out an airy laugh. “And also because you’re good at acting? Because maybe people feel something when they watch you? You make it look real and genuine, not exaggerated and fake, you know?” 

His stomach tightens in knots as he watches Harry, hunched over with his elbows on the table and his shoulders shaking as he bounces his leg in place. If Louis could say something, he’d tell Harry to stop fucking moving or he’ll knock their breakfast to the floor, but his voice gets caught in his throat.

“Was it?” Harry murmurs, slowly raising his head to meet Louis’ gaze.

Confusion takes place in the lines of Louis' face as he furrows his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. “What?” he asks softly.

Harry clears his throat and Louis sees the bob run down his neck as he swallows. “Was it ever real for you?”

Louis drops his gaze to his half-eaten breakfast, gnawing his bottom lip as his answer gets caught in his throat. Harry’s curious voice coupled with what seemed like fear leaves Louis feeling blank. His curiosity chips away at him, an itch scratching him like a thorn in his ribs. The question warrants an instant response, one of two choices, but it weighs heavy while louis mulls it over. Louis takes a deep breath, inhaling the question that lingers in the air between them, swallowing it down along with his answer until they both settle in his stomach like a heavy weight.

The sounds of the cafe seem to drown out, from Aretha Franklin crooning over the speakers to the coffee machine gently whirring until everything narrows down to Harry’s words echoing in Louis’ mind. However touch starved Louis was back then pales in comparison even with just Harry’s eyes on him. His gaze is so intense that it nearly feels as tangible as having Harry’s hand in his, just like how it was a moment ago. Louis’ eyes flick up the table to where Harry’s hand is wrapped around his cup of coffee, the rings catching the light whenever he taps his fingers. Louis doesn’t even know what they are, but he can’t think of a single time where anything felt as real as that: Harry’s hand curled around his. The thought is slightly terrifying, but oddly comforting as Aretha’s voice melts throughout the cafe.

Louis knows the answer right away, not because it’s an automatic response, but because it’s the truth. Sitting across Harry with his wide, young eyes and his syrup oozing down his toast, Louis can’t find a single reason for him to lie. The answer comes up easily that it almost seems like a crime to even attempt to lie.

“‘Course it wasn’t real,” Louis replies in a near whisper, picking up his tea to feel the nerves in his hands again. “Just the product of good acting.”

*****

A week later on a bright Saturday morning, Louis feels a little ill. He woke up covered in sweat, forehead heating up, and something eating at the pit of his stomach. It’s not much that he can’t just pop a paracetamol and ignore it, but it persists throughout the day, even gets worse if shedding his clothes is anything to go by because Louis’ just always—hot. It’s fucking hot in his flat, that’s all.

When evening comes around and he doesn’t feel any better, he nearly cancels on dinner at Liam’s place, but he doesn’t because they’d probably think he and Harry, who has some fancy industry meeting to go to, ditched them to shag. Louis wouldn’t blame them, not that they’ve done it before. In fact, the only times Louis and Harry have fucked are at work, but they’ve had sex so much that they’re almost always in a state of _just had sex and what about it lads_. It’s not often all their schedules line up with each other and Harry nearly threw a temper tantrum at having to miss out, but four out of five is better than two out of five, so they went on with it and Harry went on with his whining-turned-sexting throughout the evening.

**harry - Bored. Wish I was eating you out right now. :(**

**harry - Bored. Wish you weren’t ignoring me right now. :((**

**harry - Okay stop ignoring me. I actually do want to eat you out right now. And eat a proper meal. What are you guys having for dinner? Can you save me some?**

**louis - stfu pls**

**harry - Ok :(**

**harry - But seriously I am hungry. Can I eat you out? Wanna get my face wet because I know you’re slick :D**

“You might want to be careful, Lou,” Liam says with a worried frown pulling at his lips as he intently watches Louis nearly shove half a banana down his throat from across the counter. “You might choke.”

Sexting Harry is like sexting a fucking robot, but that doesn’t change the fact that Louis does get slick, does get a little heated under his shirt. He shifts around in his seat uncomfortably and Zayn throws him a puzzled look before Louis waves him off. His phone goes off again, showing another message from Harry and he gets more wet when he catches glimpse of the words ‘ _cock’_ and ‘ _tight hole’_ and—

“Louis!” Liam exclaims, grabbing his wrist and pulling the banana out his mouth. “Mate, you’re gonna choke.”

“He won’t,” Zayn shakes his head. “You of all people should know he takes cock like a champ.”

Louis drops his mouth in shock. “What do you mean? I’m pure and innocent,”—he takes another bite of his banana—“the only thing that has been inside me is God’s grace.”

“Lou, you’re _literally_ a porn star.” Zayn points out. Louis blinks. “There’s videos of you taking two dicks in your hole, your hands and your bloody mouth.”

Liam’s frown deepens and he aimlessly shuffles through their take out menus with a light flush colouring his face. “I haven’t watched any of his videos in ages.”

Gasping dramatically, Louis flies a hand to his chest. “Excuse me?” He points his half-eaten banana to Liam. “Look here, I didn’t get fucked five times a day to have one of my best mates not know how well I take it. Mate, I took _your_ cock.”

“What, you _want_ me to watch your videos?” Liam arches an eyebrow, fingers drumming against the counter. “You want me to watch videos of _us?_ ”

Louis props his elbows on the counter, folds his hands under his chin and bats his eyelashes at Liam. “Oh darling, weren’t we something special?”

On Louis’ other side, Niall mutters _oh Christ, here we go_ and hops off his seat to peruse the pantry, letting out a small victorious cry when he finds a bag of popcorn. He pops it into the microwave and leans back against the counter, bright eyes on the other three.

“I watch videos of you two together all the time,” Zayn adds and shrinks in on himself when Louis and Liam whip their heads to him, mouths hanging open.

“ _What?!_ ”

“As much as I’d love to dive into this entertainment,” Niall chimes in, arms crossed over his chest as he eyes Louis, “can we get back to why Louis is deep throating a banana?”

All eyes go from Liam to Louis, who quickly bites the banana halfway down his throat and cocks an eyebrow. “What?” Louis asks with his mouth full, cheeks full like a chipmunk. “I thought we went over my gold medal deep throating skills.”

“We did,” Zayn gives a little nod and flicks his eyes down to the fruit, “but you don’t like bananas.”

Which—true, but Louis just shrugs his shoulders. “I can change my mind.”

“Earlier I saw you eating a cucumber,” Liam adds, earning a finger snap from Zayn. “You want me to pop by the store? See if they have any other dick-shaped food for you?”

“Et tu, Brute?” Louis asks, jutting out his bottom lip. He fingers the banana peel and bites his bottom lip to stop himself from shoving the remainder down his throat. “I don’t get it, what’s the big deal?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “When was the last time you ate something green? Or healthy, for that matter?”

Jesus, maybe he should’ve just ditched after all. “When was the last time you lads minded your own business?” Louis snaps and then sighs when they raise their eyebrows at him. “I’ve got cravings, sue me.”

He knows something is off, even as he says it. He’s been off ever since this morning and can’t seem to get his footing right, no matter what he does, no matter how many phallic-shaped food he stuffs in his fucking mouth. Niall even turned up the air conditioning for Louis when he started to fan himself, but it did little to cool him down.

Niall pops the microwave open and blows at the steaming back of popcorn, sparing a glimpse in Louis’ direction. “Well unless you’re pregnant, you don’t get these random cravings unless—“

“Sorry lads, but I’m starving,” Liam holds up two menus in either hand, a tired and helpless smile on his lips. He eyes Louis, watching him open his mouth wide and stuff as much of the fruit inside as possible, giving a slight shake of his head. “Burgers or hot dogs?”

Louis moans loudly around his banana, eyes fluttering close, and slick beginning to seep through his trousers. He doesn’t even care if the others can smell him, doesn't care about _anything_ except getting something else in his mouth right now. Louis could do with a big, fat, juicy— “Sausage.”

Niall shakes his head in faint wonder and amusement. “Christ, someone get him a cock and knot,” he shoves his hand inside the popcorn bag clutched to his chest and stuffs a handful into his mouth. Bits of popcorn and kernels fly out his mouth as he mumbles, “I think he’s going into heat.”

*****

There’s a lot of things that Louis hates about being omega. It’s not something he really thought of before, not while he was at Full Control. Omegas were practically royalty there, but once he quit and started reviewing products, he realized how much shit omegas need just to make their lives easier. Sometimes, it all feels like an inconvenience, a defect, a fucking burden omegas have to carry around. There’s the fucking slick, there’s alphas staring him down like they’re ready to mount him on the spot, and then there’s an early heat.

Liam drove him home that Saturday, partly because Louis didn’t think he could sit through an entire night when he knew he was on the verge of heat, partly because Liam didn’t think _he_ could sit through an entire night knowing Louis was in that state. Because even though Liam wouldn’t pounce on Louis, the fact that they’ve fucked each other before makes it all that much easier to just say _fuck it, quick round in the bedroom for old time’s sake, just to take the edge off_.

Louis nearly does drag Liam in, entertaining the thought for a quick second when he parked in front of Louis’ flat, the both of them fidgety and aching with that familiarity of wanting something more, except this time they actually have an excuse to fight it. Liam, being the good-hearted alpha friend that he is, would do it for Louis, too. Nothing more, nothing less, nothing but a _one and done_ kind of fuck. At the last second, Louis decides against it because they’re not coworkers getting something out of their systems anymore. 

He almost calls Charlie, who he’s been texting on and off for fun, nothing more than polite conversations, nothing more than him seeing a dog wearing shoes on the streets and sending Charlie a picture just because he felt like it. But it’s one thing to send each other the odd text and be friendly with another. It’s a whole other thing to ask him to get Louis through his fucking heat, especially when they haven’t seen each other since the night they met and Charlie was awkwardly brushed off by Harry’s drunk remarks.

So Louis fucks himself all throughout Saturday night, moaning and writhing alone in his bed. If he was in the right headspace, he would update his review of the Heat Heaven Mattress 3000 because he found himself rolling around that massive space without ever having to change his sheets. He had dildos and vibrators galore next to him except nothing, not _one_ , was enough. Not even the biggest dildo he shoved up his hole, not even the vibrator with the knot at the base, not even the fucking toy that had the function to emulate the feeling of being knotted, just— _nothing_ was enough.

On Sunday, he wakes up with sweat beading at his temples, slick between his arse and thighs, and a hard cock. He’s just about to reach for the first toy that his hand can find when an idea pops into his desperate, heat-fogged head and he grabs his phone instead. Louis hates himself when he finds himself scrolling through his contacts, pausing, and then tapping the call button. He hates himself even more when he doesn’t hang up during the next four rings.

“Hello!” A bright voice beams, sounding something akin to a Disney World worker who’s just got a promotion, a raise, and a paid vacation all in one day. “Thank you for calling Heatline Bling where you’re one step closer to a knot of satisfaction! How can we help you today?”

He’s only called twice before—once when his boyfriend dumped him and another time when he got a little too drunk, making an appointment a week before his heat and thinking _ah, fuck it_ instead of cancelling. If he’s being honest with himself, the sex wasn’t the most horrible experience Louis’ had. The alpha was nice and clean, courteous of Louis’ needs, fucking him harder whenever Louis moaned for it, fetching water whenever Louis asked. He even praised Louis all throughout, telling him how good he felt and how he was a perfect omega, and he was just so incredibly nice that it didn’t even feel like a lie told out of courtesy.

“I’d like to, um,” Louis rakes his hand through his damp hair, turning on his side to press his flushed cheek into the pillow. “The thing is, I’m in heat _right now_ and—“

The other end makes a sound of understanding. “So this is an urgent matter? No worries, we have alphas for these situations.” There’s the sound of fingers clacking on a keyboard and the voice clicks her tongue like she’s smacking on gum. “So do you have any preferences? Thickness over length? Fit and muscled or soft and—“

“Lou?”

Louis jerks on the bed, phone dropping out of his grasp as he jolts upright. With his ears listening intently, he can hear the soft _hello? are you still there?_ from the other line through his heavy breathing. Louis would recognise that voice anywhere, the low and deep grumble even in that one syllable. His fingers tighten in the bed sheets and he feels slick dribble out just from hearing it. Louis thinks, for a hallucinated second, that he’s imagining things. It can’t be, he doesn’t know where Louis lives. It’s definitely, one hundred percent, without a doubt not—

“It’s Harry.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis breathes out in a hoarse whisper, quickly hanging up the call and scrambling out of bed.

He doesn’t bother putting on clothes, doesn’t even bother wiping away the sweat or slick, just pads out to the kitchen. He slams his finger into the intercom button and grunts, “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” Harry mutters. “Well, my meeting ended early yesterday so, um, I popped over to Liam’s place but you two were gone. Niall said you weren’t feeling well, so…” he trails off and Louis doesn’t have to see him to know he’s shrugging to himself. “I thought I’d come over and check on you, so he gave me your address.”

Louis thumps his forehead against the wall. “Niall told you I was sick? And where I live?”

“Yeah, is that—” Harry coughs and then, “Lou, are you okay? You sound like—”

“I’m in heat,” Louis croaks off, eyes squeezing shut at the verbal reminder. “So, um, you need to go and I’ll just see you on Monday or whatever the fuck it was, whenever my heat is over, I’ll just —I’ll text you, okay? I’ll text you when my heat’s over.” He says it all in one breath, too quick and rushed.

Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, but he’s still got his finger pressed against the button as Louis can hear his breathing that’s suddenly gone ragged and rough. It sounds familiar, it sounds like Harry when he’s balls deep in him, fucking him and just the memory of it has Louis’ head spinning, almost letting out a whimper into the intercom.

“You’re in heat,” Harry says slowly, deeply, like he’s talking to himself more than he’s talking to Louis, like maybe he’s letting that fact sink in before he contemplates turning around. “I just wanted to—I needed to see if you were all right, but— _fuck_ , you’re in heat.”

“Harry,” Louis breathes, desperate and soft, “I’ll text you.”

“Let me in.”

Louis blinks. “What?”

“Let me in,” Harry repeats, nearly growling. It sends heat down Louis’ spine, toes curling and thighs clamping together. “Lou, open up.”

He can’t tell if it’s the way Harry’s deep and rough voice snaps at him or maybe the heat getting to his head, but Louis buzzes him up. Not ten seconds later, there’s a loud, incessant pounding at the door that only grows intense with each tentative step Louis takes towards it. He unlocks it and pulls it open, heart racing heavily in his chest that it racks throughout his whole body.

Harry’s in a wrinkled white shirt like he’s slept in it, black corduroy pants, a pair of dirtied Vans, and a tote bag thrown over his shoulder. He has his arms propped on either side of the doorframe, head hanging down. His head snaps up as soon as the door opens and Louis stumbles backwards. Harry’s nostrils are flared, brows set in a deep, angry frown and his lips are red like he’s been gnawing at them. He stalks forward, closing the door behind him and locking it before turning back to Louis.

His chest heaves with every breath he takes, taking in the candied fragrance of Louis’ heat. “Fuck, Lou,” Harry grunts, eyes travelling down his naked, trembling body. He stretches out his hands as he walks closer to Louis, stumbling into the back of the couch in his haste. They’re an arms-length apart. Louis grips the headrest of the couch, swallowing harshly as they stare each other down. Harry looks pained, looks like he wants to step in closer, but he doesn’t make a move to do so.

Louis can’t take it, having him this close while he’s in heat, ready to fall apart in his hands. “Harry,” Louis whimpers, stretching out a hand to pull him in by a belt loop. Harry follows easily, closing the gap between them and shoving Louis’ wet thighs apart, groaning when he gets his hands on Louis’ skin.

Once Harry starts, he can’t stop. His hands roam over every inch of Louis’ flushed skin, burning hotter under Harry’s touch. Harry presses in close enough for Louis to perch himself on the headrest of the couch and cage Harry between his legs. He runs his hands up the length of Louis’ thick thighs, swiping his hands through the slick between them. Ignoring Louis’ aching cock, Harry slides his hands up his slender waist, thumbs at his nipples, and then cups his face with his slick-covered hands. It feels filthy, dirty, having his own slick pressed into his skin, Harry’s thumbs rubbing harshly into his cheek. Louis craves more of it, feels hungry for whatever Harry’s willing to give.

Louis winds his hands up to pull Harry down, crashing their lips together. Their noses bump against each other from the force, but they move along desperately, tongues fighting against each other. His cock’s pressed between their two bodies, his slick sinking into the fabric of the couch, and his hole clenching down whenever Harry’s thick bulge grinds into him. Their lips are too frantic to catch each other’s rhythm, sloppy kisses pressed against each other and their hot breath fanning across their faces whenever they break apart.

But then, kisses aren’t enough. The initial surprise of Harry coming in the middle of his heat fades away, his heat quickly fogging up his mind again. Louis tangles his hand in Harry’s hair, gently pulling him back, slicking up even more when Harry growls. “Haz,” Louis breathes, clawing at his back, “let’s go to the bedroom.”

Harry ignores him, dips his head to lick up the side of his neck. He bites down on the crook of his shoulder where he smells the strongest, laving his tongue over his flushed skin and groaning to himself. “Later,” he grunts and digs his fingers into Louis’ skin. “Don’t wanna move, I’ll fuck you here.”

“No,” Louis shakes his head and pulls his hair with more force, shivering when Harry finally pulls away, along with his warmth. “Heat Heaven Mattress 3000.”

Harry frowns. “What?”

Louis just laughs, gets on his unsteady legs to press their lips together before tugging on his wrist. He leads them down the short hallway and into his bedroom, kicking away his clothes that are strewn across the floor. Apparently he moves too slow and Harry grips his waist from behind, ducking his head to nose and lick at his neck whilst he quickly walks them forward until Louis’ bent over the bed.

Whilst Louis crawls onto the bed face first, Harry sheds his clothes off and follows him, pressing their bare bodies together. Louis muffles a whine into the sheets at having Harry’s weight on top of him, something secure and warm that leaves him pliant and submissive. The thick girth of Harry’s cock slides between his wet arse cheeks, hard and pulsing, and Louis already feels drool slipping out his mouth.

“You want this, right?” Harry pants into his shoulder, kissing and licking his way up to the side of Louis’ face.

“Yeah yeah, want your cock,” Louis nods dumbly, pushing his ass back to Harry’s hips, too far into his heat to think about anything _but_ Harry’s cock. His eyes get watery when Harry’s cock nudges at his rim, fingers digging into the mattress. “Ah— _please_ , need it inside now.”

Harry shakes his head, his hair brushing against Louis’ cheek. “No, not that,” Harry grunts, voice strained and rough but his hips keep grinding into Louis’ arse, letting his cock slide between the slick there. “I mean—you’re okay with _this_ , right? Me?”

Louis can just barely make sense of his words and doesn’t even bother to make a sarcastic remark back to him. Instead, he pushes back against Harry and whimpers loudly when his dick presses harder against his aching hole. “Just you, your cock,” he mumbles.

Wasting no more time, Harry slaps his cockhead against his hole with an obscene wet noise from how slick Louis is and presses forward. The tip pops through the first ring of muscle easily from how much Louis’ been fucking himself and both of them let out a loud moan. Harry fucks in the rest of his cock, his hands spreading his arse open to make sure every inch gets buried inside his wet, warm hole.

Taking Harry’s cock always feels like the first time, feels like he’s getting ripped apart, stretching him wide open and Louis loves it. He loves feeling full of Harry, immediately sighing in content now that he’s stuffed to the brim and satiating him all that much more. Louis’ so boneless and fuzzy already, just from having Harry’s dick in him, that he cries out at the first harsh thrust, hands slapping at the sheets and digging his fingers in.

“Ah, ah, _ah_ ,” Louis whimpers, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes.

Harry curls over him, the warmth of his skin blanketing Louis’ trembling back, his lips pressing kisses wherever they can. His hands stay firm on his hips, making sure they’re pressed tightly together as he rocks his hips into him at a frantic pace, harsh grunts and skin slapping filling Louis’ ears.

“I got you, shh,” Harry murmurs and Louis doesn’t even realise just how desperate he sounds, whimpers and mewls echoing off the walls. “Feel so good around me, you always do. Wet and ready, made it easy for me to get inside. Were you that desperate for my cock?”

Louis sobs, burying his face into the mattress and hiding his whimpers while Harry fucks in deep, his knot brushing against his sensitive rim with every thrust. He lets himself be held up by Harry, his upper body jostling up the mattress each time their skin slaps together. Drool dribbles out his open mouth, eyes fluttered shut as he lies limp and useless.

“Ah, ah— _oh!_ ” Louis cries when Harry thrusts in and the fat tip brushes against his prostate. He’s completely drowned in Harry, impaled on his cock while buried under his strong body, his strong scent filling up his lungs. Louis wants to wade out further in its depths, slip under, trusts Harry enough to bring him back to shore. “Harder, harder— _fuck_ , please.”

Harry’s hands tighten their grip on him, fingernails digging into his sweaty skin as he hammers his hips. The force is so hard that Louis’ arse jiggles with every move, slapping together loudly and mixing in with the squelch of Louis’ slick. The warmth of Harry disappears when he straightens up and Louis’ turns his head, ready to whine in protest until he sees Harry pucker his lips and let a string of spit fall out his mouth and onto his cock. It’s not—it’s not even _necessary_ from how wet Louis is, which makes it all the more filthy, more messy.

Pushing back in and blanketing Louis again, Harry licks up his neck and behind his ear, catching this earlobe between his teeth and biting down. “Gonna fill you up,” he pants, snapping his hips. “Nice and full, just like I know you want it.” An embarrassing whimper slips out Louis’ mouth and he clenches his fingers into the bed sheets, tightening around Harry’s cock. Harry growls, tonguing at the nape of his neck until it’s covered in spit. “ _Fuck_ , I can feel how much you want it.”

“Harry, I can’t,” Louis chokes out, tears, sweat and drool staining the sheet where his face lays. “Need to be filled—oh, _yes!_ ”

Harry leans up and places a hand on Louis’ ass, spreading Louis’ wet cheeks open, the other hand reaching down to where Louis’ cock bounces, easily engulfing the entire length even when he’s hard. Louis thrashes against him as soon as Harry starts stroking him off, body quivering when he finally tips over the edge and comes, spurting off into the sheets and over Harry’s hand. Harry moans, turning his face to part his mouth over Louis’ cheekbone and biting down as he thrusts in, popping his knot inside and spurting his load inside Louis.

Harry relaxes his body, dropping his heavy weight on Louis so he’s buried under him as his cock shoots off another wave of cum. He tips them on their side, hand travelling up to cup the side of Louis’ face to turn his neck and crash their lips together. His hand is wet, covered in cum and slick, but Louis groans into the kiss, letting Harry dip his tongue in and explore.

“Okay,” Louis breathes softly, trying to break apart. Harry growls and chases after him, fingers digging into the side of his face so he can’t go anywhere. “Haz, twist my neck more and you’re gonna snap it and fucking kill me.”

A breathy laugh fans across Louis’ face as Harry steals one last, bruising kiss and drops his hand, letting it loop around his waist and tugging him closer. “You okay? Do you need water? Wipes? Fuck, I should’ve thought of that before, Lou, I’m sorry—”

“Harry, relax. I’m in heat, not incapable,” Louis snuggles back against him, using Harry like a human heater and smiling when more cum fills him, “I can get my own water when your knot dies down.”

“Oh great,” Harry chirps happily, patting his hip, “whilst you’re at it, can you fix me a cup of tea? Splash of milk, babe.” Louis’ hand flies behind him to smack whichever part he can reach, hopefully his face that’s probably wearing his stupid silly grin, and Harry’s body rocks with laughter, tightening his arm around his waist. He noses into his sweaty neck, licking over a bruise there. “Mm, you smell good.”

“I smell like cum, sweat and slick,” Louis clenches down when he feels another burst of cum, his belly feeling stretched and full with it.

“You always smell good,” Harry replies easily, his words muffled from where his mouth is pressing into his shoulder. He swings a strong leg over Louis’ hip, tangling their limbs together. “But now, when you’re in heat, you know. You smell like— _fuck_ , I can’t think. That’s just, ehm, how good you smell. Fogs up my fucking head.”

Louis smiles at his babbling, reaching his hand down to grab Harry’s and bring it up to his lips. “Well you fucking stink,” he mumbles against his hand. He gasps when Harry bites down his shoulder harshly. “Your cock makes up for it though.”

Harry hums behind him. “Wasn’t lying when I said I’d fuck you over the couch,”—his hand drops down, faintly brushes over Louis’ sensitive cock and Louis shudders with it—“in the shower, on the kitchen table. Wherever you want.”

Louis lets out a dramatic gasp. “You’d do that for _me?_ ”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “‘Course. I’ll even do you a favour and take care of you,” he sighs heavily, “I _guess_.”

Parting his mouth over Harry’s wrist, right here his birthmark is, Louis bites down hard enough just to hear Harry yelp-laugh out in pain, only it also causes him to knock his hips forward, digging his cock further inside of him. Louis keeps their hands interlaced together, dropping them so they fall over his waist again and tries to convince himself that the swoop in his belly from feeling Harry’s warm lips on his neck is really just from feeling too full of Harry. He doesn’t think about what that means.

At least, Harry doesn’t give him the chance to because he chooses that moment to mouth at the nape of Louis’ neck and creep a hand down to circle his cock that’s already perking up from the attention. Louis doesn’t think about anything, nothing at all, after Harry makes him come another four times.

*****

Louis’ heat lasts for three days and Harry doesn’t leave his side once. Well, when they were knotted together they didn’t have much of a choice and Harry seemed to have preferred it that way, slipping in his cock wherever he could. When Louis tapped out, his hole raw and fucked out, Harry slid between his slick thighs, fucking between them until they both came.

And then fucked his mouth afterwards.

But the times they weren’t tied together, Harry insisted on being next to him or looking after him. From washing off the dried cum (yes, Niall’s shampoo works wonders, especially for a load like Harry’s) to going out and picking up whatever Louis is craving that day. Harry moved around his flat like he’d been there before, doing the dishes and the laundry. Louis felt so cared for, protected, in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time that he got selfish, preening for Harry’s attention and playing up his heat.

When his heat is over, they don’t see each other for a week because Harry’s behind schedule. Louis apologises profusely, but Harry repeatedly tells Louis he would have stayed with him for a whole month if he needed. It’s hard to ignore the swell in his chest when he hears that.

On their next filming day, Louis’ at reception like he usually is nowadays. He’s managed to find ways to keep himself entertained while Harry always runs late. He’s played with himself before, even sent a picture or video to Harry just to rile him up and get him to hurry, but even that gets boring despite Harry begging him for his own personal videos. He followed Niall around for a bit—half an hour to be exact— one morning, until Niall’s energy exhausted him too much and his curiosity for what a typical day in Niall’s life wasn’t enough to pull him through the rest of the morning. In the end, Louis opted for morning talks being the clear winner, not gossip as Liam likes to call it, with Zayn and Nancy up at her reception desk.

The news for a Tuesday morning is the new hot guy who’s recently started working in the cafeteria. Apparently, his muscles threaten to rip his shirt whenever he lifts his arms. Supposedly, his eyes are so blue you can actually drown in them if you look at him long enough. Allegedly, his cock is so big that an omega he shagged had to be hospitalized, called off work for a month, and still walks around with a cane to this day.

Still, he pales in comparison to Harry.

“Excuse me?”

Nancy, Zayn, and Louis turn their heads to see a tall woman shyly tucking a blonde lock behind her ear as she offers a smile. She looks vaguely familiar in the way that she resembles what every unmemorable Instagram model looks like—tall, blonde and skinny. She probably only has pictures of herself and the occasional picture of salad just to reinforce that she eats like a rabbit. Her white shirt tucked into her high waisted denim jeans says _hey I’m just like you, too_ even though the shirt alone probably cost more than Louis’ entire outfit.

Basically, she’s nothing special.

He hears Nancy gasp beside him and Zayn whispers _holy shit no way_. Louis barely has time to let the confusion sit in or try to understand what they mean when Nancy straightens up in her seat, folding her arms across her desk.

“Welcome to Full Control,” Nancy returns her smile. “How can I help you?”

The girl places a brown take out box on the desk. “Can you please give this to Harry Styles and tell him they ran out of kale salad, so I got him the Asian sesame salad instead?” She gives the box a little tap and laughs lightly. “It’s his next favourite, so I don’t think it’ll be too much of a problem.”

Even more confusion settles in, making its way across his face as a crease takes shape between his eyebrows and he feels the corners of his lips curl downward. His first instinct is to say _so UberEats and Instagram model, quite the range you’ve got, eh?_ but he isn’t that much of an arsehole.

Instead, what comes out his mouth is: “Who the fuck are you?”

“ _Louis!_ ”

He gets a smack from Nancy and Zayn in each shoulder and an affronted look from Miss Instagram Model. Nancy and Zayn acting like Louis hasn’t said something worse to a stranger makes him want to roll his eyes. They’re acting like this woman is something of royalty when he’s pretty sure he saw her in a magazine he was flipping through whilst waiting to get his teeth cleaned.

“Sorry about him,” Nancy laughs, high-pitched and nervous. “I’ll bring this to Harry right away.”

Miss Instagram Model shoots her a grateful smile, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder. “Thank you,” she replies. “And can you tell him if we can meet tonight at seven instead of—actually, I’ll just give him a ring later. Thanks so much!”

She gives a little wave of her hand and walks her long legs towards the door. When she pulls the glass doors open, the wind blows her hair a little too graciously and the three of them watch her stride out, turning heads as she rounds the corner. As soon as she’s out of sight, Zayn and Nancy are squealing to each other.

“Can you _believe_ she came in here?”

“My friends are never going to believe me.”

“Do you think we can go through the security tapes so I can take a picture?”

Louis watches their exchange and contemplates leaving entirely because she wasn’t _that_ pretty, but he eyes the box of salad and bites his bottom lip. “Who was that?”

They whip their heads at him with wide eyes.

“You were being serious when you asked who she was?” Zayn asks slowly.

Louis arches an eyebrow. “Should I know who she is?”

“That was _Stacy_ ,” Nancy emphasizes her name with adoration and he watches her nearly swoon. “She’s a model, but she’s getting into acting. Everyone’s, like, obsessed with her.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say everyone,” Louis mutters to himself.

Zayn laughs and bumps his shoulder. “Harry is,” he sing-songs and shoves the box into Louis’ hands. “They were papped having a snog. Go on, I’ll be up there to do your makeup soon.”

Louis still isn’t used to Harry being known enough to have paparazzi following him. He still sees him as that wide-eyed boy who always took whatever Louis threw at him, who was always the one who was able to throw it right back. The one who still is, except now he’s an actual director, taller and more muscled with tattoos scattered throughout his body and apparently snogs models on the side of sleeping with him. Which bothers him more than it should if his skin starting to burn whenever he thinks of the two of them together is anything to go by.

He trudges towards the elevator and their shooting room feeling—confused. It's not love or anything like that, but he likes Harry. Louis feels like he hasn’t quite gotten his fill of Harry yet, feels hungry for more. Admitting that to himself isn't the worst part, it's the after that has Louis' stomach churning. It's like finding his way out of a maze whilst blindfolded. It's the _well, what now?_ that he's left with to deal with, completely unprepared.

He should’ve known, given Harry’s history at Full Control, that he would be sleeping around. Not in a _you have a hole, I have a dick_ kind of way, but that’s just the kind of guy Harry is. The kind of guy where you can fuck and he can still be friends with you the next day. The type of guy to act normal and ask _how are you_ and actually want to know about your day, about your work, about your second cousin twice removed, and not just asking _you walking all right? Hole isn’t too sore?_.

Louis shoots Zayn a text telling him he doesn’t want his makeup done today so he doesn’t have to take conversation with him, put up a front and act like everything is okay when really, he feels like shit.

“Gooooood mor—oh fuck—morning! Hey, why aren’t you naked?”

Harry’s bright tone zips through him like electricity, shocking him enough to quickly smile. Louis watches Harry gain his balance from tripping over his own fucking shoe. It’s offensively cute, annoyingly endearing and so _Harry_ that it’s a sore reminder that Louis doesn’t have him in the way he thought he did just thirty minutes ago, in the way he foolishly thinks he still does now.

There must be something written on Louis’ face because one glance from Harry and he frowns, setting the coffee and muffins down on the table. “What’s wrong?”

Louis, somehow, manages a smile. “Nothing, just waiting on you like always.”

Harry doesn’t buy it, not even for a second. His frown deepens and he closes the gap between them, pulling Louis against him by the waist. “What happened? Not feeling well? Tired?”

“No, just—feeling off,” Louis mumbles into the fabric of Harry’s shirt. Typically, he’d lean his entire weight against Harry, but now he holds back. It’s an empty feeling, being so close to someone but feeling more apart than ever. That emptiness grows when you’ve just been reminded they don’t belong to you.

“Okay, we don’t have to film today,” Harry tugs him closer, “we can eat in bed? Maybe catch a film? Oh, hey, I’m running low on that whole wheat sourdough bread I was telling you about, so we can pop by—”

And—no.

Louis shuts him up by fitting their mouths together in a sloppy, frantic kiss. Harry gasps into his mouth but quickly matches his pace, backing them up into the bed until they fall back. Louis’ hands scramble to tug at Harry’s clothes, more impatient than ever at how slow Harry tends to move. He bites down on Harry’s lip, earning a growl and long fingers digging into the waistband of his trackies. Harry pulls the front of them down in one go, his hand automatically reaching to rub Louis’ hard cock.

“ _Ah_ ,” Louis hisses, bucking his hips up into Harry’s hand to chase the friction. His pants are sticking to his skin and between his arse cheeks from where he’s already dripping with slick. Louis finally manages to peel Harry’s shirt off and throws it to the side, running his hands over his muscled back.

Harry pulls back, chest heaving, hair a right mess, lips bruised red and glistening as he stares down at Louis with dark, concerned eyes. “S’okay?” His hands slide under Louis’ shirt and rubs at his waist, thumbs drawing comforting circles. “Lou, babe, is it—”

Curling his hand around the nape of Harry’s neck, Louis pulls him down to crash their lips together again. He needs Harry to stop talking, to stop being caring and sweet now that it doesn’t really mean anything. His worried comments and thumb rubbing doesn’t go anything past a typical, caring alpha that might as well be working for fucking Heatline Bling. Louis was getting used to the idea of him, is all. He was getting used to the idea of them, together, as something more. He hadn’t quite yet got his fill of it yet, but maybe that’s all they were—an idea.

“Want it hard, yeah?” Louis pants, looking at the wrinkle between his eyebrows instead of his eyes, knowing he has to if he’s going to survive this. “Just—as hard as you want.”

He keeps his eyes pinned in the same spot, but he can feel Harry’s eyes searching his face and he squirms under the intensity of it. For a second, Louis wonders, worries, if Harry might just call him out on what he’s doing. They lay there, pressed against each other with their foreheads touching, ragged breaths across their faces. Harry watches him while Louis stares at his hair that’s getting long, his shoulder that has an angry scratch from Louis’ nail, his wet lips. Anywhere but his eyes, really. Louis doesn’t even have to look him in the eyes to know that the lines in his face and the frown on his lips isn’t from frustration—it’s out of desperation. 

“Fine,” Harry finally grits, almost like he wants to say the opposite. But, oh, then he goes soft and tender, voice honeyed as he dips down so his lips ghost over Louis’, “but you’re gonna have to talk to me, okay?”

Louis nods, just to get him moving again. He feels like he’s out of his own body, watching from the side as Harry tugs the rest of Louis’ clothes off and sheds his own. He just can’t get it out of his head—the image of someone under Harry, someone that isn’t him. Harry touches them the same way he does Louis, whispers sweet nothings into their ear, and maybe, they get affected by it all just like Louis did. Louis gets itchy with it, feels like he’s fucking burning from the inside, and just wants to explode. 

He keeps his head tucked into the crook of Harry’s shoulder as he fucks Louis into the mattress. The thrust of Harry’s hips are fast and hard, Louis’ arse bouncing each time, nearly bruising from the force of it. But where he’s hard, he’s a thousand times softer. When Harry bites down on his neck, he soothes it over with a lap of his tongue. When his fingers dig into Louis’ hips, hard enough to leave a mark, Harry’s quick to rub over the sore spot. 

Fuck, he has to get the idea of them out of his head soon.

*****

"Oh," Louis suddenly says as if he's just remembered something even though it's been playing on his mind ever since this morning. They’re laying next to each other, Louis on his back and Harry on his side as he swirls his fingers through the cum drying on Louis’ stomach. His finger stills on Louis’ skin, taking a break from his masterpiece to peer up at Louis. "Stacy came by and, um, dropped salad off for you," he mutters, nodding to where the box sits on the table and then, because he's so pathetic and annoyed that he wants Harry to know he knows, he adds, "careful, the paps might catch you two snogging again.”

Harry just—stays still. Louis doesn’t even feel him breathing anymore. He glances down at Harry where his wet, pink lips are set in a straight line and his eyes are wide and searching, watching Louis watch him. Somehow it all feels vulnerable, studying each other with this heavy truth lingering in the air, neither of them making the first move to do anything at the risk of revealing too much.

Finally, Harry rolls over onto his back, taking his warmth with him, and mumbles: “What do you think of her?”

Cocking his head to the side, Louis raises a questioning eyebrow. "Does it matter what I think about her?”

Harry shrugs, almost absentmindedly, and shifts his long legs so his left leg knocks against Louis' right. "When did things have to matter for us to tell each other what we think? I'm just asking what your opinion of her is."

"Nice," Louis answers, too sharp, too shrill. "I think she's nice and beautiful and—” _not yours_ ,"—sweet.”

Harry hums. “Do you care?”

He doesn’t bother to finish in the rest of the question, leaving it up to Louis to fill in the blanks. “No,” Louis finally croaks out, giving his head a small shake even though his head is screaming _yes yes yes_. “It’s—fine. Do what you want, you only live once, c’est la vie.”

He says no because if he says yes, he doesn’t think he’d survive the rejection, not when he has his cum leaking out of him. Not when they’re laying close and Louis still wants to get closer. Louis doesn’t think he’d survive right now if Harry does that stupid little shrug and nod of his, the silent way of telling him _I’m sorry, isn’t what we have right now good enough?_ Louis hates that he isn’t brave enough to say the truth, to say _no, not even close_.

Louis decides to torture himself even more and spares a sideway glance at Harry. He’s staring at the ceiling with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his hair a messy halo around his head, and there’s that wrinkle between his brows that Louis itches to reach out and smooth over. He doesn’t, just keeps his arms at his side where they’re brushing against Harry’s.

“Yeah,” Harry finally says, ripping the silence apart. “Yeah, sounds good, then.”

It shouldn't hurt as much as it does as he ignores the sharp twinge of pain in his chest that makes him want to curl up. It just feels... wrong. The whole thing feels wrong—laying next to Harry after they've just fucked, his cum still drying on his stomach while they talk about the other people Harry shags. Harry says it so casually, so fucking apathetically that it makes Louis feel that much more pathetic at how much he cares.

They part ways with nothing more than a cordial, awkward wave and tight smiles. When Louis gets in his car, he feels off-balanced, like he’s forgetting something, like he needs to run back to Harry and steal back what’s rightfully his.

Instead, he drives home mechanically, blankly, and thinks _well, what now?_

*****

On the bright side, the tension and awkwardness seems to slowly disappear over the next few days. The next day when Harry has a meeting to go to and Louis catches up on his blog, Harry texts him a picture of a crisp aisle, telling him that he didn't see any Chex bags. The day after that when Louis finishes an audition, he texts Harry about it and he gets a bunch of smiley faces and heart emojis in return. After that, Harry texts him a picture of a bowl with some mixture in it and captions it _baking your favourite muffins wish me luck_ and it's so sickeningly sweet that Louis hurls his phone across the mattress.

So. It's all fine and they're normal or, at least, they're on the way to some kind of normal. Their conversations aren't stilted or forced, but for the three days they aren't together, Louis can't escape the feeling that Harry might be with her. When they get together to film again, Harry kisses him like he’s apologising for something, fucking him like he wants to devour him. It’d be nice, welcomed, if only he didn’t smell like her. 

Louis wakes up like he always does after a shooting now—fucked out and in Harry’s arms. Louis suggested filming later in the day instead of early in the morning, but Harry wasn’t having it and kept arguing _early bird gets the worm Louuuis and I want your worm but no seriously, the lighting is gonna get fucked if we do it any later just trust me_. Having a kip after he’s just been hammered into the mattress probably isn’t the best or the most productive idea, but—well, Harry’s just too warm and big like a human heater and Louis’ just too weak. 

And, Louis needs to do what he always does what he always does when he wakes up—leaves. 

He doesn’t do it on purpose, not at first at least. Their filming is starting to wrap up and they’ve both been getting busier now that their schedules are opening up more. First it’s _gotta go home and send in a review_ (true) and then it’s _I have a dentist appointment across the city_ (half true) until one day it turns into _family’s popping over for a visit and I need to sanitize my entire flat_ (not true at all). 

The worst part isn’t the lying. It’s that Harry knows it, but doesn’t call him out on it. He just sits there, eats up every lie Louis feeds him and kisses him anyway. Louis tries not to feel sick, tries not to think how that feels like pressing against a bruise. Because then—then it drives home the point that they really aren’t much outside of the four walls that make up Full Control, not much outside the bedroom where it’s convenient. Something different than what he has with Stacy. Less.

Harry gathers Louis in his arms and buries his face in the crook of his neck, feeling his eyelashes flutter against his damp skin. He’s tempted to turn around and kiss him, but he’s been trying to break that habit—the habit of getting too affected by anything Harry does, even just feeling his skin against his.

Louis fails. Every single time.

He turns his head and kisses Harry’s arm, the closest inch of skin that he can reach. Harry sighs softly, tightening his arms around his waist and presses his lips against the back of his neck. “Are you staying?”

It’s not an invitation and Louis can’t help but think that Harry deliberately asks him these types of questions. The ones where the decision is always up to him so if something were to happen, Harry would be blameless.

“Nope,”—Louis pats his arm and wiggles to let him know that he intends to get out of bed—“I’ve got meetings, so I should get going.”

Louis tries to detangle himself out of Harry’s arms, but he holds on tighter, nearly crushing Louis’ rib cage. Louis feels Harry press his face harder against his neck, as if he wants to get closer, impossibly closer.

He purses his lips, ignores the tightening in his chest and swats at Harry’s arms. “Mind letting me go?” Louis asks, keeping his voice light.

Harry reluctantly loosens his arms and Louis immediately misses the weight of him, but he quickly maneuvers out of bed before he convinces himself to stay.

“Are we okay?” Harry mutters in a quiet voice.

Louis doesn’t meet his eyes, preoccupied with tugging his shirt over his head. “Great, why?”

He pulls up his jeans, doing the button and turning around when there’s nothing but silence and, oh, he almost wishes he didn’t. Harry’s eyes are soft and laced with concern, fingers playing with the hem of the blanket. “Zayn and Niall just asked me that the other day,” Harry says quietly. His fingers slide to the empty space where Louis just was, drawing random patterns in its heat as if this motion alone is keeping his thoughts together. “I thought it was weird since I didn’t think there was anything wrong. So I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” Harry says.

Louis wants to ask _what exact page are you on?_. It seems like a better time than ever to maybe clear the air, but instead he bites his tongue and rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“They just like to invite problems,” Louis replies dismissively. He looks over to meet Harry’s gaze again and his eyebrows are furrowed together, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip. He gives in and bends forward to press a firm kiss on his lips, leaning his forehead against Harry’s and looking straight into his eyes when he says, “We’re okay.”

Louis walks away because there’s something so sad about two empty people trying to fill each other up, but he’s got nothing left to give.

*****

Their last two shoots come down to scent sprays, something that Louis is silently thankful for because he could use a break. He doesn't have to fuck himself, just sits there and poses like it's a bloody perfume advertisement. Awkwardly posing is a million times worse than playing with himself because he's a porn star not a model, but the change of pace is doing wonders to his arse. From his own toy reviews to Full Control’s toys and getting fucked by Harry, Louis’ surprised that his hole closes at all. The shoots are quick, almost too quick, that Louis finds himself trying to draw out time. He plays with the spray, pretending it doesn't work or goes into a coughing fit just to get Harry to rush over to him, rub his back and give him water. Because that break also extends to Harry. Apparently.

On the surface, there's nothing wrong. They still joke and laugh with each other, text each other insignificant little nothings that they wouldn't text anybody else. It makes Louis feel all that more special to get Harry's stupid _before you sleep_ _i just wanted to tell you i found that missing sock we talked about a week ago it was under the bed not the couch so you owe me :D_. Just makes Louis feel all that more fucked.

But if Louis squints, then he knows something's shifted. It's in the smaller moments, the ones that speak volumes, the ones that make all the difference. It's when they're walking down the hallway together, hands brushing and instead of grabbing Louis', Harry pretends to scratch at his leg. It's when there's a lull in their conversation and Harry rushes to fill in the silence when before, silence wasn't something Louis even noticed around him. It’s when Louis lingers by the door when he goes, hoping, wishing, praying that Harry says something and leaving when he doesn’t.

As their shooting starts to come to a close, Harry and Louis start to see each other once a week, just like how it was in the beginning. In those rare moments of weakness when Louis didn’t try to leave, Harry would suddenly say he has brunch to go to, a phone call with an important producer, a location scouting he _absolutely_ needs to be there for. Louis hates that, hates how they’ve gotten to the point of lying to each other and never, ever being brave enough to call the other out for it.

When he isn’t so wrapped up in losing Harry, he’s getting sidetracked by Stacy. That’s another thing Louis hates—Stacy always, no matter what, comes over to Full Control. She waits for Harry at reception, lingers near the elevator they get off at, or even in the hallway right outside their filming room. Well, that happened once and Harry was quick to shove Louis back into the room, saying shit like _the air doesn’t feel right out there just wait in here until I text you okay?._ Harry had him wait just another two minutes before he got the green light to leave the room, Harry and Stacy nowhere in sight.

It’s hard to be upset with Harry in those moments when he makes a hard attempt at keeping Stacy and Louis apart— like the room might just fucking implode if they’re together for too long. One day after a filming, Harry and Louis rounded the corner on the first floor, only to see Stacy waiting happily. Harry all but shoved the both of them into the men’s bathroom, throwing a hand out to Louis to wave his goodbye. For some reason, Harry will go out of his way to make sure Louis doesn’t see him and Stacy leave.

He and Harry finish up a shooting and make their way to the front, like always. Stacy greets them at reception, like always. She’s got a beautiful smile, pure and genuine, the kind that you’d want to see when you’re feeling alone at a party because it’s just that welcoming. Louis hates it.

“Hey Louis,” she waves her dainty hand at him and then flicks her gaze to Harry, her smile spreading further. “Hey Harry, ready to go?”

Harry shifts from foot to foot and chuckles nervously. “Ehm, yeah yeah, ‘course,” he starts patting his pockets, his shirt, looks around and mutters, “Lou, did I drop my phone somewhere? I could’ve sworn I had it when we left, but I don’t have it anymore. Did you take it? Oh, I think I might have just left it up in the room, do you mind getting it for me?”

“ _What?_ ” Louis asks incredulously and rolls his eyes when Harry pouts at him. “Why do you want _me_ to get it? No, go get your own phone.”

“But—but my leg!”

“Yeah, you have two of them, Einstein, so use them.”

“No, but it hurts, it’s _killing_ me mate and I really need my phone, can’t you do me this favour?”

“You were walking fine _two_ seconds ago, you bloody—”

“Oh, Harryyy,” Stacy giggles, a loose strand of hair falling in front of her face that she tucks behind her ear. “Isn’t _that_ your phone or are you just happy to—”

Oh God.

“Alright!” Louis claps his hands together and starts walking backwards. “See you two later, have fun. Don’t drink and drive!”

Nancy shoots him a puzzled look, but Louis just waves like a maniac, fights the urge to flip them off, and bursts through the front doors and into the fresh air. He doesn’t feel like driving, his body thrumming with energy or a burning itch, he can’t tell, but he knows he needs to walk it off. Louis doesn’t have anything on him, not a pair of headphones or a fucking cigarette to help keep his mind distracted, so he’s a bit shit out of luck, but he keeps his legs moving anyway.

He doesn’t know where his legs are leading him, he just knows that he’s getting further away from Full Control where it’s easier to breathe. It’s not like he hasn’t been in the same vicinity as Stacy before, not like they haven’t exchanged cordial niceties to each other. Maybe Louis just can’t stand the reality of Stacy being a good person. Maybe it’s hard to accept the fact that Harry sees _him_ the exact same way he sees Stacy. Maybe Louis just isn’t strong enough to admit any of these things to himself.

"Louis! Hey, Louuuis!”

Across the street, there's Charlie waving at him with one hand, a brown paper bag in the other, and then he's looking both ways before he jogs across the street to Louis. He's all bright-eyed and put together in his button up and slacks, seemingly new out in the fresh air instead of a stuffy pub. He looks good, looks and smells alpha, and he’s got such a genuine smile while he looks down at Louis that he can’t help but relax.

"Hey," Louis smiles politely. "Almost didn't recognise you."

Charlie laughs, smoothing his hair over. "Yeah, they've got me all prim and proper now that I got a promotion."

"You got a promotion?" Louis asks and lightly shoves his shoulder. "Congrats mate, I wish you told me. I would've treated you out for lunch."

A flush creeps onto Charlie's cheeks as he ducks his head. "S'nothing big, just office manager now," he explains sheepishly.

“Oh, sounds big and important.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve even got my own office now.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm,” Charlie does a horrible once-over of Louis, bites his bottom lip and Louis knows what’s about to come out his mouth before he says them. “It’s not much, but it’s got a nice view. Do you… do you wanna come see it?”

Louis glances back down the street towards the building with Harry and Stacy inside, chatting it up, possibly cuddling, maybe even fucking, and it makes his stomach clench up enough for him to blurt out a yes, nodding his head and smiling up at Charlie, who’s sporting a face-splitting grin. 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

*****

They end up walking to Charlie’s work as it’s not too far from Full Control. Charlie’s office turns out to be actually really nice, big and roomy, clean with nice decor. The office is down a long hallway, away from all the other workers, far enough that the noise dies down when they shut themselves in his office. He offers Louis his own lunch, then offers him water or tea after Louis turns down the lunch, then they stare out the window in awe because—yes, it’s got an amazing view of the city. 

So Charlie’s handsome, humble, has a mind for great interior design, and overall, he’s nice enough.

They chat easily now that they’ve built up a little friendship, laughing over things they’ve texted each other, catching up on what they haven’t texted. The office doesn’t even really look lived in as much as it looks like an office for an IKEA catalogue. Everything seems to be in its exact place, not a loose paper sticking out of a stacked document, not a paper clip fallen on the floor. He’s even got this big oak wood table that he looks admittedly sexy behind in his business clothes, sexy enough that Louis finds himself bent over it, trousers pooled around his ankles, and Charlie dicking into him.

“You can—harder,” Louis pants against the desk. “You can go harder.”

Charlie stops his hips and Louis nearly groans. “You sure? I thought I was going _too_ hard.”

Louis presses his forehead into his arm and squeezes his eyes. A virgin or a fucking priest would probably be pounding him harder than Charlie. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been going at it for, but long enough for his legs to get tired from standing too long. He’s not close to coming, not even close, and he’s tempted to just wank himself off because Charlie’s politeness goes all the way through to his sex life, too. He’s too nice, too caring, almost to the point of mothering Louis which is about as desirable as dunking his head in a bucket of horse shit.

“No no, I’m not a doll,” Louis forces a laugh and pushes back against him, “you can fuck me harder, I swear.”

Charlie hesitates, hands firm on his hips. “Well, if you’re sure,” he mutters. “But do you want to move over to the couch? Might be more comfortable.”

“ _C’mon_ , want your cock,” Louis grits, clenching down around him and preening when Charlie groans. “Want your big alpha cock fucking me hard.”

Pulling out of him, Charlie finally slams his cock back in and Louis whines at the hardest thrust he’s gotten in the time since Charlie’s been going at it. It takes thirty minutes of dirty talk and Louis pulling himself off until Charlie finally comes, shooting off into the condom. He pulls out of Louis with a hiss, quickly tying off the condom and stumbling around for a tissue. When he goes to wipe Louis down, Louis gently grabs the tissue from him with a small smile.

“S’okay, I got it,” Louis murmurs, cleaning off the slick and sweat clinging to his damp body.

“Sorry,” Charlie huffs with a soft laugh, brushing his slick hair back and slumping back in his office leather chair. “I swear I didn’t, like, plan that or anything. It’s just—you’re hot and I’ve been wanting to ask you out since the pub, but never got a chance. I didn’t even plan on running into you today, but once I saw you, I wanted to spend time with you.” He shrugs his shoulders and smiles up at Louis. “Don’t know when I’ll get another chance.”

Louis returns the smile if only because Charlie’s so bloody nice and kind, but he doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance. At least, another chance of fucking him. It was too much work on Louis’ end that _he_ felt like the fucking alpha at some points. He seems like a good mate to keep around though, so Louis wipes off the last bits of slick and tosses the tissue at Charlie.

“Well, you do have a nice view,” Louis says, playing off his vagueness as something flirtatious, “so who knows?”

Except Louis does know, he knows that if he comes back around it’ll only be because he’s desperate. As Louis drives home, he wishes, hopes, that it never gets to that point.

He spends the rest of the evening at home, drinking wine so he doesn’t search up what Harry ended up doing that night.

*****

The next day, Louis’ schedule is so packed, meetings and auditions that he runs back and forth from, that he doesn’t even have time to properly shower, just cleaning himself down with some wipes and giving his face a quick rinse before he’s running off to meet with another company.

While it's nice being booked and busy, that also means Louis can't pop over to Niall's for dinner tonight. Louis' got a late meeting with a company he already works with, discussing a possible contract renewal with how Louis' managed to increase their sales. It's important enough that the lads don't make him feel too bad about missing out on dinner, even shooting him the supportive text before the meeting. Harry's even been checking up on him through the day, asking if he needs anything and making sure he's fitting in little meals in his gaps. It's sweet, it's nice, it makes Louis want to delete his number entirely because it's only followed up by a horribly empty feeling.

"What are you wearing?"

"We're not doing this."

Harry huffs out a laugh on the other end of the line. "Heeeey, get your head out of the gutter. I'm just making sure you're wearing clean clothes and not a shirt with a two-day old pizza grease stain."

“Perks of working in porn,” Louis mutters, keeping the phone between his ear and shoulder as he buttons his trousers. “Doesn’t matter what I’m wearing because I take it off anyway.”

“You mean _I_ take it off,” Harry emphasizes, a toothy grin probably playing on his lips. “I mean, I take your clothes off. When we film. I keep my clothes _on_ because I’m a professional.”

“Until you fuck me.”

“Mm, speaking of which,” Harry drops his voice, low and sultry, “what are you wearing?”

Louis throws his head back in laughter, the phone falling out its hold and onto the floor. Cursing to himself, he grabs it off the floor and smiles when he hears Harry’s laugh through the other end.

“I gotta go,” Louis says, fixing his hair in the mirror for the twentieth time. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

“Never doooo,” Harry sings. “You sure you can’t pop by?”

“I’ll be knackered after the meeting. I’ll probably knock out on Niall’s couch and wake up with penises drawn all over me,” Louis says with a regretful sigh.

“Alright,” Harry grumbles. “Good luck though, you’ll do amazing like always.”

Louis smiles softly to himself, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “Thanks, Haz. I’ll talk to you later.”

*****

Later turns into just over an hour, the omegas of the small-but-growing business eager to get Louis to sign again. They’re not even sex toys, but boxes filled with daily necessities an omega needs that are mailed monthly. Louis signed right away, happy to get free products of shit he’ll need and honestly—they’re good, passionate and hardworking people. Packing the boxes in their own garage, having their meeting in their cramped kitchen, offering tea and biscuits. It was almost out of place to sign something official like a contract, but Louis did it with a smile and a wave, bolting out the door.

His body seems to sing with energy as he leaves, the opposite of what he thought he’d feel like. His head bops along to whatever’s playing on the radio, fingers tapping against the steering wheel. It’s when he’s waiting at a red light one street down from his flat that Louis realised that it’s the first day in a long time that he’s been productive for himself. The kind of day where you feel lighter, all because you put yourself first for once.

Louis’ so engrossed in his own thoughts that he doesn’t realize he’s passed his flat and is on the way to Niall’s instead. He follows through with it anyway, craving some company and food for the rest of the night as his own little celebratory party.

Parking his car in front, he quickly makes the familiar way through Niall’s building. He can hear the distant noise coming from Niall's flat growing louder with every step he takes and even just hearing that familiar commotion calms him down. It's only when he knocks on the door that the noise suddenly goes quiet, so quiet that he can hear his own breathing. There's a shuffle behind the door, feet against the floor, and then the door swings open.

And—oh.

*****

"Lou!" Niall cries, too loud, too nervous. His hair's a little ruffled, cheeks bitten pink, smile too wide and forced. "Hey mate. We, ehm, we weren't expecting you, so we didn't order enough food."

He tries to keep the door open as small as possible, just cracked open enough for him to show, but it's too late. Much too late; Louis' seen her and her bright hair with a brighter smile. Fuck, he hates her. He coughs just to do something with his sudden dry throat, just to buy some time to scramble for an answer.

"Oi, I know you order enough food to feed three people for yourself alone," Louis can't quite meet his gaze, mostly because his eyes can't really seem to focus on anything right now.

Louis should turn around. He should turn around, go back home, and pretend like he never came by. Pretend like he never saw her. Hopefully drink enough wine to pass out and wake up tomorrow morning, convincing himself it was all just a drunken dream. He would, even takes a step back and is about to mutter out some excuse, except he meets Harry's gaze through the crack. Harry freezes for a moment, eyes glued on Louis', until she giggles and pulls on his wrist.

“Hey,” Niall’s voice cuts through, softer and gentler. He squeezes through the crack and closes the door behind him, blue eyes wide as they stay pinned on Louis. “We didn’t, like, sneak her in behind your back or anything. It was actually last min—“

Louis laughs, too sharp and shrill. “No,” he shakes his head, biting his bottom lip because suddenly it starts to tremble. The last thing he needs is his friends to feel guilty over something they have no control over. Louis doesn’t even have a right to feel—well, anything. “No no, it’s fine. S’my fault for coming unannounced, innit? I should, eh, I should actually get going. I don’t know why I came over, really. I’m exhausted and should just go to bed.”

Niall doesn’t laugh. He sighs and leans against the door, arms crossed over his chest. “Jesus, it’s eight o’clock and you want to sleep now?” Niall gives him a small smile. “C’mon, come inside. If it gets bad, then I’ll say you’re helping me tomorrow morning with Lucy and have them all packing, yeah?”

A surge of warmth bursts through him and it takes everything in him not to pull Niall into a hug. He settles for a close-lipped smile and a nod, following Niall into the flat with his heart banging against his chest.

There’s small, quiet chatter when they come through, as if they’re talking just to fill the room. Louis feels a lurch in his chest when he remembers how just before, the room was practically vibrating with energy and now it’s like a fucking funeral. Liam and Zayn wave to him happily, quickly offering him the food and drinks splayed out across the counter. Harry and Stacy are sitting side by side at the kitchen table, voices dropped low in a private conversation. Harry freezes when Louis passes him, head following him and not hearing a thing Stacy chirps to him. He knows because Harry’s stone expression doesn’t break once, just keeps his eyes glued to Louis with his lips pressed together.

Lucy, thankfully, jumps from her slumber on the couch and scampers over to him, clawing at his legs. Louis gives her a loving head scratch and she follows him into the kitchen.

“Hey, Lou!” Zayn exclaims happily in the way only alcohol can do with his eyes wide and a smile stretching across his face. He pulls him into a hug when Louis joins them in standing around the counter. “You made it!”

Liam eyes him curiously, an eyebrow arched. “Everything alright?”

“Need a pint,” Louis laughs hoarsely, grabbing a cheese stick and stuffing it into his mouth. “A lot of ‘em, lads.”

Harry coughs, low and forced enough to tell Louis that he‘a trying to draw attention to himself. Out the corner of his eye, Louis sees him shift in his seat. “You drove here,” Harry says flatly.

“And?”

“You’re not gonna drink and drive.”

Louis purses his lips and flicks his eyes over to Harry. He sees it the moment it happens, the way Harry’s eyes go from firm to soft in a second, right when their gazes meet. “Then I’ll sleep here. Right, Niall?”

Niall, who’s too busy guzzling down a pint of his own at the kitchen table, throws him a thumbs up.

Harry scowls and Stacy giggles next to him. “He’s a grown boy, let him do what he wants,” she says, running her hand up and down his forearm. She leans forward on the table to catch Louis’ eyes and smile at him like they’re on the same team. 

Louis manages a smile, just barely, but he gives himself the credit anyway. Harry shoves his hand into a bag of snack mix, pulls out a fistful and pops a pretzel into his mouth. “Why didn’t you just get the Chex bag?” Louis asks.

Harry doesn’t bother to look up at him. “I told you they don’t exist.”

“Yes they do.”

“Well if they did, I’d have it right now, wouldn’t I?”

“We’re on our second pints,” Stacy jumps in. “Well, we lost count for Niall, but catch up with us!”

At that moment, Liam holds out an ice-cold pint and a quiet smile, those soft brown eyes sympathising with him. Louis sighs and takes it from him, tipping his head back to take a large gulp. It was gonna be a long fucking night.

*****

After Louis manages to catch up with them not long after, they gather in the living room where they take turns playing Mario Kart. Niall only has two remotes, so they rotate in pairs. Harry and Stacy pair up together and Louis tells himself he’s annoyed just because he wants to kick Harry’s arse.

Liam and Zayn are racing each other on one end of the couch, eyes focused on the screen while he and Niall are cuddled up on the other end. As a result, he’s forced to watch Stacy and Harry, squeezed together on the arm chair, all night long. Niall keeps shoving a hand over his face, gripping his chin to force his eyes back on the screen or Lucy, but Louis can’t help when his eyes wander over to them.

It’s pretty innocent, especially given that Stacy is practically sitting on his fucking lap, but Harry’s got one arm around her, big hand resting on her thigh because it’s got nowhere else to go. His other hand drums against the armrest, head bent back against the cushion and occasionally sniffing his nose when her hair gets in his face.

But then she slightly turns in his lap, smiling down at him sweetly and cupping the side of his face like she has fucking any right to. Harry smiles politely at her, close-lipped and never reaching his eyes, which should maybe give Louis’ anxious heart some relief but Stacy leans down, close close close and—

"Smoke," Louis abruptly says and all heads turn to him with puzzled expressions. "I mean, there's no smoke. Just… I need—a smoke. So I'm just gonna," he scrambles up from the couch and maneuvers his way through the limbs and dishes splayed out on the floor, "have a smoke. Outside. I'll just—yeah." 

Ignoring everyone’s eyes on him, Louis heads out with a slam of the door. He breathes easier with every step he takes, further and further away from Harry and his stench. Further away from them. He heads to the fancy rooftop of Niall’s building because why not—he feels like shit, his building doesn’t have a rooftop like this, and it’s less likely that someone will find him here.

So, of course, Harry finds him a few minutes later.

Louis’ just managed to light his cigarette, thumb slipping off his lighter for a frustrating amount, until he finally gets it lit. He takes a long drag, lets the smoke settle in his lungs just to feel the burn of it and exhales.

“Lou?”

Just hearing his voice makes a shiver run down his spine, makes his gut clench up. Makes him want to be closer. He hears Harry’s footsteps stop a few feet away from him, his breath coming in ragged like he took the fucking stairs all the way up here. Louis can feel his eyes on him, but he keeps his gaze straight, staring out at the night-lit city.

When Harry still doesn’t say anything, Louis sighs. “What are you doing up here? Shouldn’t you be—” _down there? With them? With her?_ “—getting your arse beat?”

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Harry mutters, low and deep. 

Louis takes another puff. Still doesn’t look at him. “What for?”

“I just, ehm… You seem—“ he takes another step closer, “can you just—Lou, can you please look at me?”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Louis slowly turns his head to the side. He was stupid to ever think he could survive this when just one look at Harry can send him crumbling. Louis tries anyway, forces a smile, but he knows Harry won’t believe it. There’s a bit of bravery in holding on when things are falling apart.

“I’m fine,” Louis answers, even though Harry didn’t ask a question. It feels like he did, feels like there’s a million questions hanging between them.

There’s a pregnant pause, nothing but the sound of Harry’s heavy breathing and Louis taking another drag. There are cars zipping through the streets, occasional doors opening and closing, laughter echoing into the night, but it all sounds distant, like they’ve somehow managed to find a world away here up on this rooftop.

Louis’ just about to say something, say a joke, say something bitter and pathetic, just to cut the silence, but then Harry’s taking slow and tentative steps towards him.

“I need to,” Harry’s nostrils flare as he gets closer, eyes dark, “just let me—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, just closes that gap between them and pulls Louis against his chest by the waist. Louis takes in a sharp breath, hands flying up to claw at the back of his shirt when Harry noses in where his shoulder meets his neck. It feels so good, so familiar, to be close to Harry again when they could barely meet each other’s eyes the whole night. He lets himself fall into Harry’s warmth, eyes falling close and head tipping back as Harry’s puff of breath and tongue licking his skin sends heat down his spine. 

It’s only when Harry’s nose drags from the nape of his neck, behind his ear, and then back to his neck again, sniffing something fiercely, almost angrily, that Harry abruptly pulls away. His hair is loose and wild, flopping over to one side, nostrils flared, wet lips, brows set in a deep, angry frown.

“Fuck, I knew it,” Harry hisses, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, “When you came in, I just thought—you don’t smell like mine. Like me.” Harry swallows hard and he glances out towards the city with wet eyes and bitten lips. “You don’t smell like me.”

Seeing Harry this upset, this disgusted, and still trying to come back to his senses after Harry’s touch, Louis foolishly says, “The other day. I saw Charlie and we—”

Harry makes out a choked out noise and angrily runs his hand through his messy hair. “Jesus, Lou.”

The way he says it makes it sound like he’s repulsed, disappointed, and Louis feels a ball of anger well up inside him. “What? I can’t fuck somebody but you can?”

“You said you don’t care,” Harry argues.

“I don’t,” Louis quickly says and, oh, he hates himself, “you can do whatever— _who_ ever—you want.”

Harry stares at him with a cold, stony expression, something frustrated etched in the lines of his face. His cheeks and the tip of his nose are tinted red, cold from the high breeze up on the roof and Louis didn’t even notice how cold he was until he realises that now, he can’t step in close to Harry’s warmth.

“Great,” Harry gives him a curt nod and takes a step back. “Happy for you, Lou.”

With that, he abruptly turns around and hastily stomps back towards the stairs, bumping into a chair and knocking it over. Harry curses to himself, leaning down to pick it back up but then a potted plant knocks over, so he throws his hands up and just leaves all together.

So Louis knows what _well, what now?_ means. Losing Harry.

*****

It's been a week since Louis' seen Harry, the night on the rooftop. 

That's normal for them now, to go a week without seeing each other. The new development, one that gets under Louis' skin and makes him sleepless at night, is the silence on both ends. They haven't sent each other the odd text, not a like on Instagram, not even a fucking butt dial. Harry could be dead and Louis wouldn't know a thing since he refuses to search him up like some stalker. He doesn't think he would survive it, anyway. Seeing him out with her.

It's unfair on Louis' part because he's been out with Charlie nearly every day. He's the best kind of company you'd want around in situations like this—caring, sweet, and completely oblivious. Louis does try to put his heart in it. When Charlie wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him in close at the movie theatre, Louis tries to relax into it. When they hold hands, Louis tells himself that their hands are a good fit.

Nothing's wrong with him, nothing at all. He's just not Harry.

Actually, they run into Harry once because the world fucking hates him. It’s brief and quick, over before it’s even started, but it’s enough to make Louis feel like the smallest person in the world. Charlie and Louis are at a frozen yogurt shop, Charlie trying to spoon-feed Louis a spoonful of tart yogurt that he fights against because who the fuck wants to eat a flavour that tastes expired when Harry waltzs in. He sees them all close together, one of Charlie’s hands wrapped around the nape of Louis’ neck to pull him in, and a smile spreads across his face. Louis silently watches him fill a cup of his own, sprinkle on his toppings, pay, and give them a friendly wave before leaving.

On the day of their very last shooting day, Louis gets there early which, by default, means he's going to be waiting for Harry even longer than usual. He woke up with a sinking feeling in his chest, like there was something heavy lodged right in the center that he can't manage to shake off. Louis ignores Charlie's text, bright and offensively happy for a day that feels like death.

Once Louis drags his feet into the company and into their shooting room, bare and waiting, he starts to feel a bit like shit. He's not prepared to say goodbye to Harry, not even a little bit, despite where they stand now. Harry took the easy route before, just up and leaving without a word. They don't have that luxury this time around and Louis feels like he must just suffocate with all the words he's choked up in.

Harry quietly comes into the room, eyes on the floor and not ever looking in Louis’ direction. Louis’ even in some sheer pink lingerie paired with some pink knickers, but if Harry notices, he does a damn good job at hiding it. Louis keeps his eyes on the bottle spray, reading over the ingredients list for the hundredth time while he listens to Harry set up.

“Okay,” Harry finally murmurs. He drags his eyes from the floor to Louis, his throat bobbing when he takes in Louis’ outfit and he tightens his fingers on the camera. “Can you, ehm, just lay down on your stomach? Head on your arm and look into the camera.”

Silently following his instructions, Louis gets into position and Harry snaps a few pictures. It continues like that, Harry giving him instructions in a monotone voice and Louis doing what he says. They hardly look at each other, definitely don’t touch each other, and barely talk. Louis’ even made sure the lingerie rode up so his plump arse was on display. The air is filled with tension and awkwardness that Louis starts to feel suffocated.

“I need a break,” Louis whispers with a dry throat.

Harry’s hand stills on the camera. “Are you alright?”

Louis nods as he climbs off the bed. “Yeah, fine. Just need a fag.”

Harry moves out of the way when Louis passes him to grab his box of cigarettes from the table. He gets his hoodie and joggers on, quickly shoves his feet into his shoes and scurries out, making his way to the alley. The burst of fresh air fills his lungs and he takes in deep breaths, leaning back against the opposite brick wall. He lights up the last cigarette, taking a deep drag and letting his eyes close to take in this momentary silence that’s something close to heaven compared to what he was in before.

Suddenly, the door bursts open and Charlie comes rushing out, relief falling on his face when his eyes rest on Louis. He looks like he ran here from the way his chest heaves and his unruly hair is sticking upwards in random directions like it was fighting against the wind. The top two buttons on his shirt are popped open, revealing his muscled chest. Louis' eyes widen and he nearly drops his cigarette, but he composes himself and straightens his back against the brick wall, flicking off ash.

“Charlie," Louis exhales. "What are you doing here?"

Charlie smiles softly and takes a step closer. "I ran here," he begins, inhaling deeply to catch his breath. I was at work and all of a sudd—you’re smoking?" His smile quickly dissolves into a frown when his gaze flicks to the fag between Louis' fingers. Shaking his head, Charlie plucks it out of his hand and drops it to the floor, smashing it with the toe of his shoe while Louis gapes at him. "Those are horrible for your health."

Louis clenches his fist together and grits his teeth. "That was my last one."

"Aww," Charlie coos, interpreting Louis' annoyance as cute petulance and moves in closer. He takes Louis' hand in his and smiles softly down at him. "Listen, I was at work, but I couldn't really concentrate. I kept thinking about— _all_ I was thinking about was you."

Louis ducks his head, pinning his eyes on his cigarette that's crumbled into the pavement and fighting the urge to wrangle his hands out of Charlie's. The only thing worse than smoking away your last fag is having that peaceful time alone be ruined by the most persistent and kind person out there, making it all that more difficult to be mad at him.

Still. It was his last fucking cigarette.

"It helps reduce stress."

"What?"

"Cigarettes. They help."

Charlie's smile doesn't waver. He brings a hand up to cup the side of Louis' face and gets him to look up so their eyes meet. "We can talk about the pros and cons of cigarettes later," he says. "But I ran all the way here to tell you that I can't stop thinking about you. At first I was scared to say something and have you run off, but it's been driving me mad. I know I look crazy running all the way over here and dropping this on you all of a sudden." Charlie tips Louis' head back further, bringing their mouths closely together. "Louis, will you—“

" _Helloooo?_ "

Louis drops his head onto Charlie's chest from how close they're standing. If Charlie's annoyed by Harry's interruption, it only shows through his hand tightening around Louis' before he thumps his forehead into the crook of Louis' shoulder.

Charlie finally turns around with a smile. "Hey, Harry. How are you?"

Harry doesn't reply, doesn't even bother to spare him a glance to show that he acknowledges him. He stands across from them, nostrils flared, brows set in an angry frown, and eyes glued to Louis' neck that's beginning to flush under his heated stare.

"Mate," Harry spits, flicking his eyes to Charlie. "Your car's being towed."

“My car?” Charlie frowns, dropping Louis’ hand and stepping closer to Harry, “But I didn’t take my car here; I walked.”

Harry’s mouth drops open for a second before he gives his head a light shake. “Your coworker called. Said you parked in a handicapped spot, so,” he cocks his head to the side, “might wanna go before they take it.”

“What?” Charlie gapes, eyes wide and confused. “I would _never—”_

“Go!”

Charlie jumps and dashes through the door, wildly running out of sight. Harry closes the door and leans against the brick wall directly across Louis, arms crossed over his chest, angry eyes and lips set in a full frown.

“You stink.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Aw, thanks. Go fetch me one of those omega scent sprays and I’ll be better.”

“That’d just make you stink even more.”

“Well, tough shit. You’re more than welcome to go back inside and— _fuck_.”

Harry crosses the gap between them in two steps and pulls the collar of Louis’ sweater to the side so he can dig his face into the nape of his neck. He takes a whiff, growls, and bites down.

“ _Ah_ , fuck Harry,” Louis’ hand grips at the crown of his head. He gasps out sharply when Harry’s wet lips drag from his shoulder up to behind his ear, nipping at his earlobe and leaving a trail of spit.

Harry crashes their mouths together and it’s less of a kiss, just teeth clanking, nose bumping, being consumed by feeling Harry on his skin again. Louis' hands don’t know where to go, sliding from the expanse of his back, his shoulders, and finally wrapping around his neck. The alley’s filled with soft groans and whimpers and Louis’ starts to feel lightheaded from it all when he feels Harry tug at the waistband of his joggers.

“Harry,” Louis warns breathily, but falls short when Harry gets his joggers to pool around his ankles and plunges three fingers inside him. “Oh, fuck.”

They’re right across from the door and if anyone were to open it, they’d get a front row seat of Louis getting finger fucked. He tightens his arms around Harry, clutching onto him as Harry works his fingers in and out with a wet noise from how slick he is. It’s all so quick, so fast that Louis gets dizzy from it all, head lolling back and eyes shutting on their own. He barely notices when Harry pulls out his hard cock, red and so swollen he looks precut at the head. Harry grips Louis’ thighs, lifts him off the floor and presses his back into the brick wall.

“ _Ah_ ,” Louis gasps as Harry sinks him down onto his dick, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist and clenching down immediately. His head goes fuzzy from being empty to full in a second and he grasps at Harry, a small, desperate whimper escaping. “Ah— _please_.”

Harry grunts into the nape of his neck, snapping his hips with such force that Louis feels himself bouncing. The brick wall starts to dig into his skin where his hoodie rides up, but Louis barely feels it. He shivers when Harry nearly rips the collar of Louis’ sweater to get at his skin, right where Charlie was before. Harry growls when he sniffs there and immediately licks wherever he can, teeth nipping at his collarbone and shoulder.

“Taking me so well,” Harry whispers, thrusting his hips faster. “You always do, always ready to take me.”

Louis pants out a soft litany of _uh uh uhs_ every time Harry works his thick girth in. He feels himself nodding absentmindedly, head falling onto Harry’s shoulder and preening when Harry coos at him.

“Touch me,” Louis mumbles into Harry’s neck. “Need to come— _oh!_ ”

Biting at the crook of Louis’ shoulder, Harry wraps a hand around his cock, stroking him off in time with his hips. With a few more frantic, hard thrusts, they both tremble, their bodies shaking as they come down their highs. Harry doesn’t knot him and Louis whimpers, trying to shift down to pop it inside him even though his cock is still blurting out waves of cum inside him.

As soon as Harry pulls out, he gently gets Louis back on his feet but keeps him close, pressing their sweaty foreheads together. He leans down and helps Louis drag his joggers back up his legs. His clean hand reaches up to cup the side of Louis’ face, thumb stroking over his heated skin. “Don’t fuck other alphas,” he murmurs softly against his lips.

Louis pulls his head back, brows furrowed together. “You can’t ask that of me.”

“I just did,” Harry replies steadily, eyes never leaving his. He glances down at Louis’ lips, looks like he wants to fit their mouths together, but doesn’t. “Don’t fuck other alphas. Lou—please. I can’t fucking stand it.”

Glaring at him, Louis shoves him away because—no. He can’t let him have that. “You’re a fucking hypocrite,” Louis spits, making his way to the door. 

When he gets his hand on the doorknob, he hesitates and almost turns back to say goodbye. This is it. This is what Louis’ been dreading all day and he doesn’t want to be the one walking away this time, but it’s all fucked.

Shaking his head lightly, Louis pulls the door open and walks away.

He's fucked.

*****

He's _so_ fucked because there's a product launch party that he somehow managed to skim over. A launch party tonight.

The email, buried under mountains of audition invites and other emails, stares at him in the face a month later. Knowing him, Louis probably thought it was a spam email and moved right past it, but now the words and the pictures of himself practically mock him. He only found out about it earlier this morning when Zayn had called him up and asked if he can come over and do his makeup to which Louis said yes because he's wants company and might jump off a fucking cliff if he spends the rest of the evening alone.

"Jesus, you look a right mess," Zayn says in lieu of greeting when Louis opens the door for him. He follows Zayn to the kitchen table where he sets out an array of makeup and tools. They take a seat and Zayn scoots in close, a disappointing and concerning frown playing at his lips as fingers lightly ghost over Louis' tired skin. "Not getting a lot of sleep lately?" 

Louis drums his fingers on the table and grunts, "Been getting enough.”

"Your under-eye bags say otherwise,” Zayn replies. He brings a finger under Louis' chin and tilts his head up. "Seriously, are you okay?"

Jesus, he really is fucked if three words can undo him. Louis drops his head back down, pressing his trembling lips together and he plays with the sleeves of his sweater. "S'just been a tough month. I've gotten really busy and I love it, I do. I appreciate the load of work I've been getting, but, ehm—” he takes a deep, steady breath,"—you know, it's a bit different from the routine we had going on before, so I had to try and adjust a bit there. But no no, I've been,”— _miserable, tired, missing Harry_ —"getting through it."

Zayn listens quietly, intently, a firm hand resting on Louis' knee. "Hey, he doesn't know what he's missing out on."

Louis huffs out a laugh. "Thought you were Stacy's biggest fan.”

"I love her," Zayn nods slowly, grabbing a makeup brush and twirling it between his fingers, "but she's nothing compared to you, especially when I'm done with you. It's been awhile since you were my canvas."

Zayn starts opening up products and Louis closes his eyes, lets himself relax under Zayn's touch. If he's gonna have a miserable night, he might as well look pretty.

*****

It seems like everyone and their extended families have been shoved into Full Control, the building swarming with bodies on every floor. Zayn and Louis stick close together, trying to squeeze their way through the crowd but having to stop every few minutes so Louis can take pictures with influencers, journalists, and he doesn't know who else. Liam and Niall somehow manage to find them thirty minutes later, pulling them into the cafeteria that’s significantly less crowded than the other areas of the company.

“Christ, I didn’t expect this much of a turnout,” Niall grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Timón is happy though, so that’s all that matters.”

“You’re still up his arse?” Louis asks.

Niall smiles deviously at him. “It’s all gonna pay off, trust me.”

Liam frowns at his phone, heaves a big sigh and lifts his head to look at everyone. “Speaking of which, Harry’s here so Timón wants everyone to gather in the big conference room.”

All heads snap to Louis with expressions of concern and worry. He doesn’t blame them either since his stomach clenches up at hearing his name. They haven’t seen each other in a month, not since the night in the alley, and haven’t even spoken to each other. It’s back at square one for them and Louis can’t help but feel like maybe that’s where they’re supposed to be.

Louis just turns around and starts walking towards the conference room, the other three trailing behind him nervously. Everyone they pass by serves as a nice distraction for what's about to come, but that’s just it. Distractions are nice until they’re not.

The conference room is so crammed that they can barely shove their way inside. There are seats lined up in rows facing a wall where Timón stands, his Hollywood smile shining brighter than the spotlight on him. The screen behind him shows snippets and photos of what Harry and Louis have been working on, later fading out into a picture of the product that Timón dives into eagerly.

"Anyway, I think everyone is tired of hearing about dildos,” Timón guffaws and the room erupts into obnoxious laughter. “I believe the two stars are here now, so if everyone can please give a big round of applause to Harry and Louis.”

The room vibrates from the sound of clapping, heads turning around to look for them. Louis gets clapped on the back, his hair ruffled, his cheek pinched as he shimmies his way to the front. Timón pulls him into a tight hug and then holds him tight beside him so they can pose for pictures.

Louis, as usual, smells Harry before he actually sees him. That heady scent Louis can recognise in an instant is nearly drowned out with the smell of alcohol, making Louis wrinkle his nose in disgust. Harry wobbles his way over but somehow makes it look like natural goofiness as opposed to a drunken walk. With glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, Harry finally stands on the other side of Timón, never sparing a glance in Louis' direction. Timón hands Louis a microphone and he takes it with trembling hands, his skin feeling heated all over, not just from the heat of the light on him. 

"Um, thank you to Timón and everyone at Full Control for trusting us with this and supporting us," Louis mutters, forcing a smile when a flash goes off. He sees Niall in the corner with his phone held up, recording him like a proud father. "It's been great to be back and, ehm, see some familiar faces, along with new ones. I've had a lot of fun and hope everyone enjoys the products."

Everyone claps their hands together again, flashes going off all around the room and the occasional whistle sounding off like they're graduating. Timón claps him on the shoulder, takes the microphone from Louis and passes it over to Harry who looks at it like it's a fucking vibrator with spikes before grabbing it. "Um, hello," Harry begins, his voice deep and husky. The room breaks out in endeared laughter. "These past few months have been wonderful thanks to everyone at Full Control, so thank you. I feel lucky to have been invited back and work with, ehm, some familiar faces again. So. Thank you, it's been a huge honour."

It's only a couple sentences, but it feels like he's read out a complete novel by the time he's done talking, his slow drawl worse under alcohol. Harry claps his hands together and does a little bow, throwing up a peace sign and then turns to him and Timón. He gives another bow, more directed towards Timón, doesn't look at Louis and then he's stumbling off again, disappearing into the crowd.

“You look like you can use a drink,” Niall approaches him as soon as Louis walks away from Timón and back with the others.

Louis shakes his head. “Need some fresh air.”

“The alley again?” Liam replies curiously.

“Hopefully it’s better than here,” Louis raises his arms, gesturing at the sea of people surrounding them. He starts to walk backwards with a small smile. “I’ll find you guys again.”

His legs take the familiar walk back to the alley, a place that doesn’t hold the best memories, but Louis keeps going back to it anyway. This time, he doesn’t need a cigarette or a pint. He just needs the fresh air, the peace it provides to allow him to think for a second. 

The alley’s thankfully empty, so Louis takes his rightful place right next to the door and leans back, just like he did when he first came back here all those months ago. It’s only lit up by two lamps on either side of the door, but it seems blinding in the dark night. The quiet makes its way under Louis’ skin, relaxing him until he almost feels numb as the gentle breeze whips across his face. His mind feels like it’s about to finally fade out and abandon those last few lingering sounds of vibrations when, of course, the door bursts open, almost hitting him from where he’s standing behind it.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” a voice says breathily. The other person whimpers and recognition settles deep in Louis’ stomach.

There’s the sound of someone against a wall and more kissing and Louis just. He doesn’t fucking move. He doesn’t even turn his head and keeps his eyes pinned to the brick wall across him. The same brick wall Harry fucked him against just a month ago. The same fucking brick wall that Harry’s shoving Stacy up against now.

From the corner of his eye, Louis sees Stacy's eyes fall on him and her hazel eyes widen in shock. “Shit, Haz,” she gasps, slapping at Harry’s shoulder.

 _Haz_. Louis exhales slowly.

Harry doesn’t respond and Stacy lets out a groan before slapping at his shoulder again. “Hey there, Louis!”

Harry immediately backs away from Stacy, stumbling backwards like she’s burned him and then balancing himself beside her, chest heaving. He wipes at his glistening mouth with the back of his hand and rakes his fingers through his wild hair as if Louis wouldn’t be able to tell what they were doing. As if Louis wasn’t fucking standing two feet away.

“Don’t mind me,” Louis says monotonously. “Carry on. If my presence bothers you though, the space beside the dumpster is free.”

Maybe if Louis was a nicer person, he’d offer to leave. But he’s not, and he isn’t going to. He was here first. He was his first.

“I’m just going to—I’m gonna—we can go,” Stacy mumbles and she looks at Harry expectantly, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of Louis. She puts a hand on Harry’s hip to try and get his attention, but Harry doesn’t so much as blink at the contact. “Haz? Ready?”

“I’m gonna stay back,” Harry says, voice deep and rough. Louis doesn’t think about the times he’s heard his voice that way before. “Get myself decent before heading back.”

Stacy bites her lip and smiles, wrapping her arms around Harry’s waist and nipping at his jaw. “Save the indecency for later, yeah?”

Harry offers her a half smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, but Stacy doesn’t seem to notice. She gives Louis a shy smile and pulls the door open, disappearing behind it.

Louis feels Harry’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t return the gaze. They both seem to be waiting for the other to say something, a slight anticipation in the chilled night air, and Louis can’t stand it. He’s done enough waiting to last a fucking lifetime.

“Why do you do that?” Louis finally asks with his arms across his chest. “Why do you drink like it’s water when you’re in the middle of a fucking desert and avoid me?”

“I’m drunk,” Harry supplies, eyes on the floor.

Louis scoffs to get Harry to look up at him, but fails anyway. “But why do you avoid me?” He takes a step closer.

Harry slumps his shoulders in some kind of sweet surrender and glances up at him with glistening eyes and wet pink lips. “I just… I just don’t trust myself to be close to you and not kiss you.”

“You’re fine kissing other people, Harry,” Louis mumbles under his breath. Harry’s eyebrows knit together, a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. It’s the first reaction he’s managed to pull out of him all night, so Louis tugs on that string harder, wants to see it unravel. "Because apparently that's okay, as long as it's you, right? Can you imagine for one _second_ what it feels like, being the smallest person in the room? What it feels like to—to be tossed to the side, right after you've had them? To be fucking avoided all the time by the person—“

His voice cracks, but he can't even bring himself to finish. He doesn't get the chance to because Harry's taking two long strides and suddenly, he's in Louis' space, eyes wide. “You want to imagine something? Here—here let me help you paint a picture,” his hands fly about in the still air, his eyes a bit manic. “Imagine a boy who takes a job offer with no expectations, yeah? Just helping out with lighting and filming while people have sex. He gets so bored that he nearly quits until another boy sits next to him in the breakroom.”

Louis’ breath hitches but Harry continues on anyway. “He’s funny, gorgeous and smart... so the boy sticks around, just for those little moments together with him in that breakroom or when they’re doing stupid shit. They do a prank one day and that boy grabs his hand while they run away from the security guard and—” Harry chokes out a sad laugh, “and all he can think of is ‘Jesus, he’s _holding_ my hand.’ And that’s when he knows he’s fucked. Because sitting next to him in that break room isn’t enough anymore. Running around with him isn’t enough anymore. Watching people _fuck_ the boy that belongs to him is just—”

Harry gets choked up again, but tries to hide it behind a cough as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Louis wants to say something, but his words get lodged in his dry throat. His vision starts to get blurry and Louis tries to take a deep breath to steady himself, but it comes out shaky anyway, like he can’t seem to get enough oxygen in his lungs.

“S’just like dying, really,” Harry croaks out, harshly wiping his cheek. “‘Cause all he wants to do is hold his hand. So—so he leaves without saying goodbye because if that boy told him to leave like it was the easiest thing in the world, he would’ve lost his fucking mind. If that boy told him to stay, he would’ve done it in a second and kept suffering through endless people fucking him because he’s just that gone for him.”

Louis isn’t breathing now, at least he thinks he isn’t because it seems like the only thing he can manage to do is stare at Harry, his hands trembling by his sides as he pulls his bottom teeth between his lips and bites down just to grip onto something, to stop his lips from trembling.

“And then—” Harry rambles on, “And _then_ , they get together again a couple years later. The boy’s more guarded this time around, so you think he’s fine, right? A bit smarter, a little wiser. They even end up fucking this time around and it seems a little better, like maybe they’re onto something until the other boy tells him it’s a mistake. Tells him that it’s all just convenient.”

Louis tastes something wet and he’s not sure if it’s blood or fucking tears or whatever the fuck it is, but he bites on his lip even harder.

“You’d think the boy would stop before he’s in too deep, right?” Harry chuckles, low and rough and self-deprecating. “He’s just so—he’s _still_ so in love with this boy that he continues on anyway. He finally gets to have him, not in the way that matters, but just the smallest, the _tiniest_ bit of him is enough because—because that’s how it is with him. It feels like his happiness is right there—right when he gets to hold his hand. Even when every _single_ fucking time he asks the boy if he’s going to stay, he leaves anyway. Even when he tells him he doesn’t care that he fucks someone else.”

“And then he meets some other guy,” Harry smiles, sad and exhausted. Defeated. “He meets someone else so the boy acts like everything’s fine and keeps fucking someone else just to try and prove that he’s actually fine. He pretends to be happy for him and be sickly supportive of him because he’d do just about anything to make him happy to the point where it makes him sacrifice his own fucking self-respect and he thinks he’s being the bigger person when—” he meets Louis’ gaze with tear-brimmed eyes, “when in reality, he feels like the biggest and most pathetic piece of shit in the world.”

They stand there staring at each other; Harry’s chest heaving while Louis doesn’t even think he blinks, much less breathes. When it seems to stretch out too long, Harry finally laughs, wet and humourless, “How about that, Lou? Can you imagine _that_? Because—because trust me, it’s just about the worst fucking thing.”

The air seems to have been completely sucked away, Louis’ chest tight no matter how hard he breathes. He’s definitely drawn blood from how hard he’s been biting his lip, but. Well, he doesn’t know, doesn’t feel much of anything except the pounding in his fucking chest that might rip him apart at any second. Harry’s breathing hard now, not from anger like before, but like he’s exhausted. Wet eyes, tear-stained cheeks, red lips and hair a fucking mess, Harry looks worn out and Louis’ just about to take a step closer, but thinks against it.

Louis feels his hands shaking, lips quivering as he whispers, “You love me?”

Harry exhales. “Yeah,” he shrugs helplessly and gives him a tired, sad smile. The kind of smile where you’ve long accepted something and you’re relieved to finally share that truth with someone else. 

Before Louis has a chance to reply, the door swings open and a couple comes stumbling out, hands gliding over one another as their mouths move frantically. They bump into Louis and break apart with a shocked gasp. In the midst of their rambling apologies, Harry squeezes himself between them and through the door, quietly disappearing once again.

*****

The next morning, Louis wakes up ten minutes before his alarm.

He knows it’s Wednesday because he would be scrambling to make his way over to Full Control and get the filming done with, just so he and Harry could have fuck the rest of the morning away, just so they could spend all morning together. Louis’ never deleted it because that feels like admitting something he isn’t quite ready for.

But now— now Louis deletes the alarm. Because it’s all over now—Full Control, the filming, and everything else. He’s too afraid to unravel what _everything else_ is. Louis barely got any sleep last night, barely gets any sleep nowadays if his restless head and prominent undereyes are anything to go by, but his mind and body don’t allow him the luxury of going back to sleep. His skin itches with the urge to go on about his normal morning routine—wash his face, brush his teeth, get dressed, be with Harry—but he’s a bit fucked with that end there.

So he lays in bed, cold and alone and without Harry and it all just sounds so fucking depressing that Louis finally hauls himself out of bed. He goes to take a shower, but then sees the bottle of shampoo that Niall gave them and remembers when Harry had roughly fucked him against the wet tiles of the shower, only to gently massage shampoo on him afterwards, their skin eventually pruning up. His gut clenches and he thinks that maybe he can stink for the rest of the day—not like he’s seeing anyone anyway. After making that decision, Louis fixes himself a cup of tea because that somehow makes his situation less sad, but then he thinks about how Harry would’ve gotten him his tea and his muffins, so he dumps the entire teapot down the sink. 

He hates it, hates how everything and fucking _anything_ comes right back to Harry. It was great when Louis would see a bird’s nest perched in a tree, text a picture of it to Harry and say _this is what your hair looks like after you’ve just fucked me_. Now it just feels unfair, makes him feel fucking sick, that he can’t live in his own flat without everything reminding him of Harry.

Perhaps the worst part of it all is that Louis doesn’t even try to distract himself like he did before, during Harry’s week-long radio silence. It’s not that he doesn’t have the energy to, but—it feels pointless.

Louis’ blankly looking at his fridge’s contents with his phone buzzes. He wishes, foolishly, selfishly, that it’s Harry sending one of his dumb, robotic texts that he misses. Instead, it’s Niall telling him to buzz him up. It’s straight to the point and emotionless, which makes Louis read the contact name over again to make sure it’s actually from Niall. He texts like a kid on a sugar rush—too excited with the occasional typos. Seeing a text from him that’s so, well, bland makes Louis arch a confused eyebrow to himself.

After hitting the buzzer and leaving the door unlocked, Louis’ just turned on the telly when the door bursts open. Niall strolls through, kicking it shut behind him, and heads straight to the fridge without so much of a greeting or even acknowledging Louis. If that and his text wasn’t enough to make him concerned, the fact that Lucy isn’t in tow with Niall has Louis getting up from the couch and into the kitchen with a wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Hello to you too,” Louis breaks the almost awkward silence as he watches Niall pull out a water bottle, which—now he _really_ knows something is wrong because Niall always, without fail, drinks a pint first, water later. “Something wrong? Jesus, is Lucy okay?”

Niall takes a sip of the water and leans back against the fridge. “Harry told me what happened.”

Louis loves how direct Niall is, he really does, but for once it would’ve been nice if he wasn’t. It would’ve been nice if he came over here with Lucy and did Louis’ head in through his talking alone. Instead, the apartment falls silent with the exception of the telly playing an episode of Great Beta Bake Off. Niall steadies him with an expectant gaze, his usual bright, blue eyes now casting a dull, tired stare that sends a chill down Louis’ spine.

“So you came over here to, what? Give me a lecture?” Louis asks with a sigh.

Niall shakes his head. “No, no, I just…” he trails off thoughtfully and drags his fingers through his hair. “You know the best part about being a beta, Lou?” A soft, humourless laugh falls out of his mouth and it sounds so foreign for someone like Niall, who probably came out of his mum’s womb laughing instead of crying. Louis’ too focused on piecing together what’s happening before Niall continues on. “Nobody notices us. Not a fucking person.”

“What are you on about? Everyone loves you,” Louis says.

“Yeah, everyone loves the lad who helps everyone out and can make them laugh,” Niall replies easily, slowly nodding his head. “But—but nobody _notices_ us. While all the omegas and alphas are too busy breathing in each other’s scents, betas just kind of hang around in the background, which makes it a lot easier for us to notice just about everything.”

Louis cocks his head to the side with a furrow between his eyebrows. “That your secret to knowing everything?”

“Just a benefit of being a beta,” Niall shrugs and then smiles when Louis stares back at him with confusion written in the lines of his face. “What, you think we stand around, tending to alphas and omegas?”

“No!” Louis immediately exclaims. “No no, Jesus of course not. You know—”

Niall laughs, lifting the tension in the air. “Relax, mate. But d’you see what I mean? People don’t—“ he pulls at his bottom lip, pinching it between his fingers before letting it go, “people don’t notice us, not really. We’re ignored half the fucking time and the other half is when we’re noticed, but only when we’re needed for something—that’s why people love us. But when we’re brushed off and ignored, we can see everything.” He tips his head down, rolling the water bottle between his two hands for a moment before taking a deep breath and glancing back up to smile at Louis. “Sidelines aren’t a bad view when you can see everything and use it to your advantage.”

Nothing Niall says does anything to help him out of this seemingly endless pit of confusion. “You gonna let me in on what you’ve noticed, then?” Louis asks, looking down at his feet.

“I’m not here to lecture you.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“I got Harry the job to leave.”

Louis snaps his head up. “What?”

Niall just shrugs and takes a sip of his water. “I noticed that he would always pull some omega after a shooting with you,” he explains. “At first I just thought he needed to get off—you know how it can get on sets, especially for alphas—but I caught him afterwards one time and he didn’t look all that happy.” Niall flicks his gaze to the cabinet on the side of the wall, scratching absently at his neck and huffing out an empty laugh. “Fucking amazing what some people would do once they’ve convinced themselves of something.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Louis asks incredulously.

“Not my place,” Niall arches an eyebrow. “I brought you two idiots back together, but that’s all fucked up now too.”

Louis scoffs. “Well, if Stacy never—“

“They’re over now,” Niall’s tone is suddenly sharp, abrupt. “She was a one time thing. It was _supposed_ to be, but… well, they’re over now.”

Relief washes over him, almost consumes him, but not just yet. There’s still something itching on Louis’ skin. “What are you on about now? What do you mean ‘supposed to be’?”

Niall groans, tipping his head back and dragging a hand down his face. “That week-long silence after you guys slept together? When he thought _you_ thought it was a mistake? He went out with her, had a snog, and that’s it. But then you had to go and run your mouth and say, ‘Sure Harry, stick your alpha cock anywhere you want. I don’t care.’ For fuck’s sake, Lou, imagine how he felt. You’d have done the same thing if the roles were reversed.”

“Well, why the _fuck_ didn’t you tell me that before?!”

“Not my place!”

Louis takes a step closer, heart pounding heavily. “ _Now_ you decide you don’t want to play Cupid?”

Niall breaks out in a wide, bright smile. “I put you twats together, my job here is done. Besides, I didn’t know you’d run your mouth and say stupid shit.”

The blunt honesty mixed with Niall’s lightheartedness has Louis relaxing his shoulders even if he feels like the floor might swallow him at any moment. Everything, every _single_ thing that’s happened, all came down to some petty miscommunication and a little too much pride. And they have nobody to blame except themselves.

"But it wasn't all your fault," Niall finally says, his wide blue eyes softening. "He could've... well, Harry made his mistakes, too." 

Louis nods absentmindedly, throat lodged up and stomach feeling heavy under the weight of information. He’s walking Niall out the door, staring at his fluffy brown hair with something heavy in his chest, when Niall turns back around and says, “Oh, Lou?”

“Yeah?”

Niall leans his shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m not here to lecture you, but you wanna know one of the things I noticed?”

“What is it?”

“I noticed how something can stare at you right in the face and you can still ignore it, still convince yourself it’s not what you think it is, even though it’s _exactly_ what you want. It’s just—stupid. How a lot of people think about love instead of just doing it.”

Jesus. To think all those months ago, Harry and Louis were singing about how they _weren’t_ stupid _._ Louis would laugh at the pure fucking irony of it all.

*****

A long week later, Louis finds himself at the store to restock his fridge that's running dangerously low on food. He would've just gotten food delivered, but that in combination with his empty cabinets and fridge only serves as a blaring reminder of how he's forgotten the basics of self-care. It's probably been a week or so since Louis' even stepped foot outside and even though he has trouble feeding himself, he silently praises himself for going out in clean clothes. He hasn't stooped that low quite yet, mainly because laundry is both productive and a distraction. That's what his life has narrowed down to now—finding something that'll get him to survive the day.

Louis doesn't have anything specific in mind, just peruses the aisles until something catches his eye and he throws it in his trolley that's starting to look like he's stocking up for the apocalypse.

He doesn't really know how he sees it, but there on the top shelf, stuffed in the back and laying on its side is a bag of Chex. Louis goes on his toes, makes sure it's not snack mix or something of the sort, but a smile spreads across his face when he sees that it's actually just Chex. 

_Fucking amazing what some people would do once they’ve convinced themselves of something._

Louis pulls his phone from his pocket, thumb flying over the screen as it taps away and calls Niall. Hitching himself on the bottom shelf, Louis holds the phone with one hand and tries to reach for the bag with the other.

"Niall," Louis grunts as soon as he picks up the phone, arm straining from reaching so high, "where does Harry work now?"

"Why?" Niall asks. "What are you doing?"

"I'm doing love," Louis pauses, feels stupid, and then sighs. "That's not what I—you know what I mean. Do you know where he's at now?"

Niall gasps. "Louuu! Is your head finally screwed in right?"

“We’ll see, I guess,” Louis grumbles, sweat beginning to bead at his temple with how hard he’s trying to reach for the bag.

Niall laughs. "He's at a hotel, been working there for a new film."

"Great, can you—" Louis stands on the bottom shelf, on his toes, and still can't reach the bag, "—Jesus, this might as well be in Jupiter. Can you tell him that you're popping by the set for a visit or something?"

“Sure,” Niall replies easily. “I’ll text you the address, yeah?”

Louis grips the edge of the shelf with one hand and, on his toes, pulls himself higher until his other hand grazes the bag. He pinches a corner between two fingers and falls back with a sigh of relief. “Fucking hell, finally!” he exclaims, earning himself a glare from a mum pushing her daughter in a cart. “Niall, that’d be great.”

“Text me how it goes, okay? The master mind needs to know how this all ends.”

“Yes yes, I’ll text you everything, now please go call Harry.”

“Oh, Lou?”

Balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, Louis walks towards the tills, pulling out his wallet out as he goes and says, “What’s up?”

“Don’t fuck up.”

With that, Niall clicks and the line goes dead, which—rude considering Louis is doing just about everything to _not_ fuck up. He glances down at the bag of Chex in his hands and hopes, prays, that this all works. Because he doesn’t know what he’d do if it doesn’t.

Blaming Niall seems like a good start, though.

*****

Louis’ only waiting in his car for about three minutes when Niall’s text rings through with the address to some hotel, a string of heart emojis and a picture of Lucy with a sign that reads _good luck!_

He races to the hotel, nearly breaking every traffic law that exists, and pulls up to the hotel. To the side, there’s a large, open grass area that’s been fenced off, a crowd of people flocking around it. A part of the parking lot has been closed off for the trailers, so Louis heads in that direction with the Chex bag clutched in his hand. His heart begins to race as he draws closer to the fence, feels like it might go into overdrive when a pair of security guards turn to face him with a cautious look, arms crossed over their chests.

"Sorry, this is a closed set," the bigger one says in a husky voice.

Louis clears his throat. "Right, well, I'm Niall Horan," he replies hastily, his voice trembling. "Harry's friend. He knows I'm coming."

The smaller one cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyebrows at Louis. "Aren't you Lou Lou? From Full Control?"

Louis feels the colour leave his face and goes cold, rigid. "What? No. No no," he laughs, high-pitched and squeaky. He shifts from foot to foot, brushing his fridge out his eyes. "Heard he's ace, though."

The bigger guard's eyes widen and he snaps his fingers excitedly. Louis can practically see the light bulb go off and he's fucked now. "Oooh! That's right," the bigger guard nods with a bright smile. “Mate, I just watched your video when you were dressed up as a kitten.”

“Oooh, that one is top five for me, but did you see the ‘ _frat boys gang bang twink nerd_ ’? Because let me _tell_ you…”

Fuck.

Whilst they're giddying over his videos, Louis takes a deep breath and pushes between them, running as fast as his legs can carry him. There's a moment of silence before the guards are shouting angrily behind him, their voices gradually growing closer as they round up on him. Louis can barely see where he's going with how fast he's running, but he focuses on going going going. He's never been on a movie set, but this one is massive and there's a sea of people that make it harder for him to run through.

Louis turns around a corner of some building and presses his back to the wall, chest heaving for air and his legs aching for rest. He feels disgusting, sweat dripping down his temples and his shirt clinging to his back. This wasn't what he had planned, not that he had a grand plan in the first place, but Louis starts to panic. He keeps his ears tuned for the guards' voices in the midst of everyone else's chatter, eyes frantically searching for some place to go into like a bathroom, a trailer, _anything_. 

That's when Louis sees him. Standing across him where a patch of grass separates them is Harry, clad in loose beige trousers, a rumpled white shirt and a blue bandana hanging off his neck. He's got his eyes cast down, tapping away on his phone with one hand and holding a water bottle in the other when he passes by a plant. Harry abruptly stops, crouches down so he's eye-level with it and then starts to pour his water on the plant.

He looks so beautiful in the light, sunrays highlighting his toned arms, sparse hair sprinkling his face and those bright, green eyes that he loves so much. Even if Louis could talk, he wouldn't have it in him to tell Harry that's a fake plant.

It seems foolish to stand out in the open, staring at him while he waters a fake plant and murmurs to himself, probably talking to it. Louis didn’t come all the way here to get chased down and fucking stare at Harry. If he has anything on his side right now, it’s that he’s really got nothing left to lose.

Swallowing down a lump in his throat, Louis carefully walks across the patch of grass, eyes pinned on Harry who doesn’t notice him until he comes close enough that Harry’s eyes fall on Louis’ scuffed up Vans. His hand stills on the leaf of the plant and slowly, he cranes his head up, eyes squinting against the sun’s rays.

"Lou?"

He says it on a soft exhale, barely above a whisper, and it’s enough to rip through Louis’ entire body.

“Hi,” Louis mutters. His eyes follow Harry as he stands up to his full height, his hand nearly crushing the bag from his hard he clenches his fist, fighting the ache of want to tug Harry in close close close.

Harry’s mouth drops open and his eyes are wide in shock as they search Louis’ face. “What are you… how did you...”

"Here," Louis thrusts the bag into his hands. He's still staring at him, so Louis rambles on. "They're your favourite. You didn't believe me when I told you they have them and—and I was at the shop when I just happened to see them, so, ehm… yeah."

"You came all the way here just to bring me a bag of Chexs?" Harry frowns, his hand holding the bag against his chest.

"Well, yeah. I like proving you wrong," Louis shrugs. "And, um, also to tell you that you don't have to keep settling. Not if you don't want to."

Harry’s eyes drop to the bag of Chex in his hands and slowly, his lips curl in a suggestion of a smile. “I don’t want to,” he mutters, ironing out the crinkles in the bag and then raising his eyes again. “I can’t believe you came here to give me this.”

A smile quickly spreads across Louis’ face, but he tries to press them together to hold back. “It wasn’t the easiest thing,” Louis says.

“Harry?”

A man with a headset on and a clipboard in his hand starts waving to Harry, who sighs and pushes his hair back with his fingers.

“I have to go,” Harry smiles softly. “But… don’t go anywhere. I’ll come find you after, yeah? Just—don’t go.”

“I won’t as long as you call off your hound dogs,” Louis replies, earning a bark of laughter from Harry.

“You’ll be fine. Just head down there, turn left and there’s a door. Wait in there, I’ll try to be quick,” Harry starts walking backwards, eyes firm on Louis like he actually might leave. He couldn’t if he wanted to, his legs burnt out and begging for rest.

Harry gives him a curt nod and turns around, walking away from him, but Louis feels frantic at the sight and shouts, “Wait!” He takes a few steps forward and Harry turns around, arching an eyebrow. “I know you have to go, but… you said I always leave. So that’s why I’m here.”

“Right, ehm, I really have to go…”

Louis takes another step forward when Harry takes a step back. “ _And_ you said you’re more guarded this time around, but you don’t have to be.” Harry’s expression starts to soften, but he still holds back, so panic starts to rise in Louis’ chest. “Oh, are you, um, seeing someone else? Or you don’t want to see me? I should’ve called, huh?”

“No!” Harry exclaims, but slowly begins to walk backwards again. “I just really have to go, our schedule is gonna be— _ah_ , what the hell is a cord doing there?!—fucked. Okay, Lou?”

Louis relaxes under the nickname and gets closer again, still trying to close that gap. “One more thing,” he adds and Harry pauses, waiting curiously. “I said I don’t care, but I do. Care about you.” He sees Harry’s breath hitch and Louis lets out a breath of relief—he still has some effect on Harry. Louis presses his lips together and nods, muttering, “You can go now.”

Harry nods slowly, rips the bag open, stuffing a hand inside and shoveling a handful inside his mouth. With his chipmunk cheeks full of Chex, Harry throws him one more smile and turns around, walking away.

Following Harry’s directions, Louis heads into the room that looks like a resting area for hotel guests. Brown rattan chairs and glass tables are spread out across the white tile floors, a vending machine in one corner and a TV hanging on one wall. Pulling a chair out, Louis sits down. All he has left to do now is wait.

*****

Louis hates waiting.

At this point, Louis would have thought he’d be good at keeping himself distracted. First, he pulls out his phone and sends the lads an update. Then he plays a couple games on his phone, keeps losing, then decides to delete all the games. Louis tries watching television, but it’s playing some soap opera show and he can’t find the remote. After a phone call with his sister lasts a mere seven minutes, Louis thinks he might just go fucking crazy.

Being stuck in a room doesn’t help him. The four walls seem to suffocate him, contain him when he’s got all this nervous energy, all these words he needs to spill out. Some people flock in and out the room, throwing him curious glances but never speaking to him. Louis doesn’t exactly know what he’d say anyway. It comes across a bit mad—coming all the way here, outrunning security guards, running through the movie set, and giving Harry a fucking bag of Chex.

And still waiting.

Eventually, Louis wanders over to the vending machine when his stomach starts to growl. He doesn’t bother giving the snacks a scan when he sees that there’s Oreos and slides his money in, crouching down to pull it out. Louis leans back against the glass of the vending machine and rips the back open, popping a biscuit into his mouth. Blankly staring out the window, Louis contemplates just marching outside and see Harry in action instead of being stuck in this room.

But then the door's opening and there's Harry looking like Christmas come early, his hair a floppy, beautiful mess on top of his head and smiling so hard his cheeks are working overtime with it. He crosses the room in long strides, eyes glued to Louis, and then he's wrapping one arm around Louis’ waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of his head and crashing their mouths together in a bruising kiss.

It's like being stuck underwater only to come back up again. It's like a breath of fresh air, kissing Harry when they're on the same page like this. Louis' hands come up to claw at the back of Harry's shirt, feeling the taunt muscles flex as he drags his fingernails down, smiling when Harry nips at his bottom lip. Harry’s hands never stay in place, dragging down his back, his arms, his arse like they don’t know where to go.

They break apart with a click of their lips and Harry leans down, pressing their foreheads together.“Those Chex tasted like shit, you know,” he mumbles. 

Louis pinches the soft pudge at his hips and shivers when Harry’s warm laugh tickles his neck. “You just have shit taste. That’s why some of us are smart and get Oreos,” he smiles, shaking the bag of Oreos he’s still clutching.

Cupping each side of Louis’ face, Harry squeezes them tightly and makes Louis’ lip pucker up like a blowfish. He looks intently into Louis’ eyes, deadly serious and says, “Will you share your Oreos with me?”

A laugh slips out of Louis’ lips as he slaps Harry’s hands off, but wraps his arms around his waist to keep him close. “You’re so fucking annoying,” he giggles, digging his face into the warmth of Harry’s neck. It’s safe here, nice and warm, the thump of Harry’s heart against his chest echoing into Louis’ skin. Harry seems content in holding him, burying his nose into the crown of Louis’ head while his fingers dig into his hips. It’s the happiest Louis’ felt in so long, he doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to ruin this moment because finally, _finally_ they seem to be on the same page.

But. He hates waiting. And it seems stupid, to think about love instead of doing it.

Maybe Louis should pull away and look Harry in the eyes. Maybe he should ease into what he wants to say. Maybe he needs to stop thinking and—

“I love you.” Harry loosens his arms around him and begins to pull back, but Louis locks him in and noses at the collar of his sweater. "And I lied. Before. I said I didn't care because I thought you didn't either, but I lied. I care about everything you do— like when you fuck other people, when you bang your knee or when you wake up in the morning. And when you're gone, I miss you like crazy.” He feels Harry swallow, the bob in his throat moving, and Louis kisses at the skin there, preening when Harry’s fingers tighten on him. “And I’m sorry.”

Harry sighs, leaning back to run a finger down the length of Louis' nose. "I should've just spoken up instead of going with whatever you did. I should've just talked to you from the beginning, right in that break room. I just kept... running," he gnaws on his bottom lip and smiles sadly, "I'm sorry."

"You need to talk to me about things," Louis murmurs, scratching at the fabric of his sweater. "Don't... don't run off and jump to conclusions. If I knew how you felt back then, we wouldn't have had to waste so much time." 

A soft growl rumbles in Harry's chest and he digs his fingers into Louis' skin. "Not the only one who jumped to conclusions, remember?" 

Shaking his head, Louis squeezes him in closer. "We made a mess, didn't we?"

"Almost," Harry breaks out in a goofy grin when Louis cocks his head to the side in confusion. "Still haven't made you gorgeous yet. Now that is one beautiful mess that I cannot wait to— _ow!_ " Harry snatches Louis' hand where it's tightly pitching his arm and pulls it away, the breath of his laughter fanning over his face.

"I hate you," Louis grumbles once his laughter dies down.

"I love you," Harry shoots back quickly, dimple popping into his cheek like a greeting.

Louis gets on his toes to kiss the spot under Harry’s ear, grinning selfishly when Harry gasps softly. "Do you have to go?" Louis asks.

Harry hums, brushing the tips of their noses together and grinning widely. "Think they can survive without me for a bit longer,"—he leans down to peck their mouths together—"c'mon." 

Taking Louis' hand in his, Harry drags him over to one of the rattan chairs and pulls it out for him before doing the same to the chair beside it. They sit side-by-side just like before, just like how it should've been all along, and pass Oreos back and forth because—yeah. They finally made it out of that break room.

**Author's Note:**

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